Horse Sense
by celinenaville
Summary: "The black horse reared up, struck out with a hoof. Sam only had time to register the thought 'crap' before Dean intercepted. Something like the crack of a wooden bat rang out and Dean took the blow to his chest, thrown across the aisle like a rag doll." The boys and some killer horses in Upstate New York. What could possibly go wrong? *COMPLETED*
1. Chapter 1

**Okay... so I'm dabbling in something different and light since my other fics have been an angst fest lately. Thought I'd try my shot at humor. This is my first light-hearted case fic. Lots of fish-out-of-water boys. Early Season 1.**

"Well, here's an interesting one." Sam's voice called from behind his laptop, which was perched on the cheap motel room writing table. His face was illuminated in a sickly blue glow from the light of the screen. Dean paused in his self-appointed task of twisting several of Sam's paper clips into strange animal shapes and looping them around the tab of his empty beer can. "Hmmm?" He said mildly.

"Upstate New York. Several people trampled to death by horses in the last 3 months within a few miles' radius."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "That unusual?"

Sam sat back and looked up at him. "I'd say so. Especially when the victim is found and all of the horses are locked up in their stalls and no one can figure out which horse might have done it."

"Seems weird, but supernatural? I don't know." Dean returned to bending the paper clips together.

"Could you refrain from ruining all of my office supplies, please?"

Dean caught his eye, smiled and kept twisting them around each other.

"Jerk," Sam said.

Dean smiled wider. Sam looked at the glowing screen again. "I don't know, Dean. Three young women in three months at three barns?"

"Young women?" Dean asked, suddenly interested.

"Yeah. 19, 24, and 32. No witnesses. All of them were alone at night, probably finishing chores and closing up." Sam's fingers chased over the computer keys. "Seems like it follows the lunar cycle too."

Dean snorted. "Werehorses?"

"Outside of something like pookas in the British Isles, there's really not much lore on killer horses. Not like black dogs, for instance."

"Were they fat?"

Sam looked bewildered. "The horses?"

"The girls."

"No. They're all athletes, most of them are pretty thin, actually. What difference does that make?"

"I don't know. I thought if they were fat maybe the horses were out for revenge. Horse can only take so much before it snaps, man."

"You know. Sometimes I have this very vivid fantasy that I'm not related to you."

"That's weird," Dean began. "Because I have this reoccurring dream that Mom and Dad brought me home a little _brother_ from the hospital. But here you are."

Sam ignored the jibe and shook his head. "Well, we're not terribly far from New York right now. Should we drive up and take a look?"

Dean shrugged. "Guess so."

Sam closed the laptop and grabbed his carrying case. Mindlessly, his fingers moved to close it and he stopped. An assortment of paper clips were dangling from the zipper. " _Really,_ Dean?"

Dean shrugged. "Got to kill the time somehow, Sammy."

* * *

Dean swung the Impala up the gravel drive. The stable sprawled before them in an impressive display of white siding and large windows. White fencing lined perfectly manicured pastures and an enormous outdoor ring stretched to their left. Dean whistled. "This place is fancy."

He parked near the outdoor ring and killed the engine, eyes following the young women riding by. "Look at all those spoiled bitches."

Sam rolled his eyes and stepped out of the car. He shut the door carefully. He strode over to the activity and leaned on the fence railing, observing in silence. He felt Dean's presence at his shoulder and glanced at him. Dean was watching one of the shapely blondes with rapt attention. She had her hair pulled back into a ponytail that escaped from under her black velvet helmet. Pink shirt tucked into a pair of grey breeches that fit like a second skin, black knee high leather boots. She trotted by them, rising and falling rhythmically to her chestnut horse's trot.

Dean inhaled sharply. " _Oh God_. I never wanted to be a horse so bad in my life."

She settled her seat deeply into the saddle and her horse slowed to an animated walk, the momentum swaying her hips forward and back in time to the movement. He sank his voice lower into something suggestive. "Or a saddle. I'll take being the saddle." He said huskily.

Sam shook his head. Dean looked askance at his younger brother. "Oh come on... tell me you _don't_ want to hit that."

"I never said I wouldn't-unlike you I can exercise a modicum of self control."

Dean gave him a sharp look. "I exercise mine every single day that I don't slap you upside the head, dude."

Sam smiled slightly. "I'm sure you do."

"Can I help you gentlemen?" A brunette Sam guessed was the trainer walked up to them on foot from the center of the ring. She ducked under the railing.

"Yes." Sam said charmingly. "We're here from the insurance company to talk about the accident."

"Oh." Distress flashed across her features. "I'm sorry," she said, tearing up. "Its been hard on all of us. We're like family here."

"I understand," Sam said sympathetically, his face a study of concern and caring. He was so good at that. Dean had no clue how he managed to give a shit about everyone's problems all the time but he seemed too. Pre-law indeed. He'd have made a horrible fucking lawyer.

"Can you tell us what happened?"

"I already went over this on the phone."

Sam nodded. "I know, but red tape and all. I'm sorry. We needed to come out in person and look around."

She looked a little shell-shocked. "Of course."

"Can we start with your information?" Dean asked pulling out a small notepad.

"Carol Fendwick. I'm the owner/manager here at Oakwood Stables." She waved at them to follow her.

"Can you tell us what happened?" Dean nearly tripped as he avoided a pile of manure completely out of place within the Immaculate yard.

"I live on the property. I heard the commotion outside. It was about 8:30 p.m. I didn't pay attention at first. I mean horses make noise all the time. But something seemed off... I came into the barn and Claire..." she stopped, put her hand over her face. Her throat worked a moment. "She was only 19..."

"I'm so sorry." Sam said softly.

Her dark eyes filled with tears and she continued walking. They entered the stables. White cement was flanked on either side by stalls with heavy barn doors. It was a beautiful facility. Modern, lovely, bright.

Carol paused. "I found her over there near the wash stall."

Dean wandered over and crouched next to where she pointed. There were rusty brown stains in the other wise immaculate concrete.

"I can't get the blood stains off," she said.

Dean raised an eyebrow. "There's bloody hoof prints?" He asked the obvious as he noticed several sets of half-faded, bloody horse tracks.

Carol looked away. "She was trampled. Just... trampled... just..." she broke off again. Sam placed a hand on her back. "I'm so sorry Ms. Fendwick."

"Which horse did it?" Dean asked, looking up and trying to suss out which of the stall's fuzzy occupants was an equine Cujo.

"None of them. They were all in their stalls."

Dean took a picture of the crime scene with his cell phone and stood up. "Can any of them get out of their stalls?"

She raised an eyebrow. "You tell me. They all have bolted doors and bars on the windows... and letting themselves back in and locking it afterward is a pretty neat trick. And those hoof prints don't match any of the horses in _my_ barn."

"You memorized the prints of all these horses?" Dean asked incredulously. "Anal much?"


	2. Chapter 2

Samshot his brother a glare.

"No,' Carol replied, her tone a little pissy. "Those horseshoes are ones I've never seen before. The nail holes are spaced unevenly. They almost look handmade. Certainly no horse in _my_ stable would wear that."

"Cold spots?" Dean asked, all business.

"What?"

"Any cold spots? Temperature fluctuations?"

"It's a barn. _In New York_. In the _fall_. The entire structure is a fluctuating cold spot."

"Okay...so..." Sam stepped over to Dean and grabbed his arm. "We're just going to take a look around. Won't be long. Thanks for your time."

Carol shot one last dark glance at Dean and left, leaving behind an air of hurt indignance.

"God Dean, could you be more of a dick? The people here are obviously mourning... Tact. It's a skill you should learn someday."

"Just tryin' to get to the bottom of this. Besides, I want to go back to the motel and take a shower. This place smells like horse."

Sam's eyebrows knitted together. " _Hello_? ...stable."

"Whatever." Dean wandered over to the tack room and flipped on a light. He glanced around surreptitiously and pulled out the EMF meter. "Keep watch for me."

Sam posted himself by the door, half listening to the quiet beeps of Dean's handheld meter. He emerged several minutes later. "Clean. The place is clean. Just got a lot of saddles and bridles and _black leather boots_..." He pitched his voice lower... "and riding crops and spurs..."

"Dean?"

"Yeah?" Dean yanked himself out of whatever fantasy he had fallen into.

"We need to get a move on before someone comes in."

* * *

The second stable turned out to be as unremarkable as the first, except in comparison to Carol Fendwick's place, it was a dump. It wasn't bad really, Sam thought, it was simply an older facility that hadn't been that fancy in the first place. Instead of doors, the horses had stall guards. Dean tested one of the plastic gates with his hand. "Horse could easily push through this," he said to Sam. "This is like a baby gate for horses. They could just jump over it too."

Sam snorted "And what... like _kill_ someone here and then gallop over to Oakwood stables on the next full moon kill someone else and then run back here and jump his stall guard and settle in for the night?"

Dean raised an eyebrow plaintively. "It's possible?"

Sam shook his head.

"Can I help you gentlemen?" A voice made them whirl around.

An older woman with a severe haircut was coming down the aisle. Sam flashed his fake FBI badge. "We just need to ask a few questions about Janet Louden's death."

She looked shocked. "FBI. I thought it was a farm accident?"

Sam looked to Dean. "Well with the three deaths in such a small radius we have to look into the pattern...Ms...?"

"Ms. Channing."

"Channing. Did Janet have any enemies? Anyone who might want to hurt her?"

"Well, I mean she was in a highly competitive sport. There was certainly resentment from some of the girls in other Stables that she did so well in competitions."

"Any reason in particular that they would single her out?"

"Janet was definitely at a disadvantage because the other girls came from- shall we say more affluent backgrounds. It's almost an insult that a largely self-trained woman with an off-the-track thoroughbred that she trained herself could compete at their level. And win."

"May we ask where the body was found?"

"Near the wash stall."

The boys shared a significant look. Dean wandered over to the wash stall and glanced around.

"Could any of your horses have done it? Gotten out by accident?" Sam knitted his eyebrows together.

She shrugged. "It's happened before but none of them were missing when we came in the next day. They were all in their stalls. Plus Janet was not just trampled, she was nearly mangled. That's very odd because horses tend not to like to step on people. Most deaths are accidents. An accidental kick. An accidental fall. Not something this...violent."

Sam noticed this women was markedly less emotional than Carol had been. "Were you close to the victim?"

"I was her trainer. I certainly knew her well. She was a nice woman."

"Have you noticed anything strange about the barn lately?"

"Like what?"

"Strange smells? Cold spots?"

"It's fall in New York. It's always cold." She looked at Sam as if he were slow. "What sort of smells?"

"Anything that smells like rotten eggs or a gas leak?"

"No."

"Have the horses been acting strange at all?"

"Not really. Although last week they were a little antsy for a few days. Extra ramped up for some reason but cool weather does that to them."

Dean finished his sweep of the crime area. He'd found nothing but a scrap of fabric that he pocketed and a rusty flat head nail that he dismissed.

"Thank you for your time," Sam said "We're going to stick around and look at a few things before we leave."

She nodded. "I have a lesson scheduled. I'll be in the ring if you need me."

Dean waited a moment and then pulled out his EMF meter and began to methodically sweep it over each stall. He only found one fluctuation and it was near an exposed set of wires. "Wow," he commented. "This place is a fire trap waiting to happen. One spark from this stupid fuse box and it lands in a pile of hay and poof! No more barn. " Dean gathered his thoughts. "Other than this place being a piece of crap I don't see anything wrong with it. Also, next time let's not wear our suits to some place that we know is going to make them smell like we've been rolling in manure for 3 hours."

"I think that's just your cologne."

"Sam shut up."Dean paused, his eyes casting one last searching look at the dusty aisles and cobwebby stalls. "I think we're at a dead end here, Sammy. I don't see anything."

"C'mon." Sam waved to him and they stepped outside into the crisp afternoon sun. "We still have one more barn to hit. Boy, I hope they don't compare notes and notice that it's been the two of US who keep showing up with different identities. They're much too close for comfort. I wish they were across town or something."

"They're entirely different facilities. So unless someone rides at both places, how would they know the FBI and insurance adjusters are the same dudes?" Dean moved across the field at an easy pace. The field on top of the hill was bordered by trees, giving it a sense of lonely privacy.

"Dean. Duh. These are _women_."

"Yeah? I noticed."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Women do this weird thing...they actually communicate."

Dean stopped. "I'm not following you."

"I just mean that one woman runs into another and they talk about their day. Who they ran into and what they did. The two tall guys asking weird questions at the barn. That stuff. We just need to be extra careful is all."

"So how do we approach barn #3? The FBI should work again. Makes sense to have the same agents. Why the hell didn't we go in as FBI on the first one?"

Sam ducked his head, grinned sheepishly with a flash of dimples. "Ummm...I kinda didn't think it through."

Dean glared at his stupid brother. "You didn't think it through? We're on a hunt. I _trust_ you to come up with a plan and you didn't think it through? What freakin' ivy league school did I just pull your ass out of not too long ago?"

Sam shrugged. "Well I have a different approach to the third stable in mind."

Dean blinked slowly. "Oh good. Let me have it. I'm sure it's been thoroughly thought out."

"I saw that they were looking for help. I figured we could try to pick up a job there."

"Looking for help because their last help was trampled violently?"

"Yeah probably. I figured it would, you know, give us a chance to snoop around more and get to know people and the dynamics." He bit his lower lip, looking plaintive.

"It had better be a nice stable with hot chicks like that Oakwood place." Dean was sussing out where the other two stables must be located as he talked. Pine Farm was in the middle of the two other properties and they all must be bordered by a few acres of woods. He held up a finger. "And you get to shovel the shit because I ain't doin' it."

* * *

"I don't get it. Why are the only people at these stables women?" Dean took a swig of his beer. "Not that I'm complaining, mind you."

Sam shrugged, his face buried in his laptop again. Dean understood that his brother's forte was research but sometimes he wanted to slap him in the face with the keyboard. He didn't even know why. "Think we can fake knowing a thing or two about horses?" Sam asked.

"I can fake knowing a thing or two about _anything_."

"Yeah I noticed." Sam's ability to multi-task pissed him off too. He was totally capable of poking away at his computer and carrying on a conversation. Bitch wouldn't notice that Dean was busy tangling paperclips together again though. It was like a bizarre therapy.

"Chicks and horses. Never met a girl that didn't want a pony."

"Yeah," Sam replied. "I don't know why but it's mostly women until you get to the really elite show jumping circles. Even then there's a pretty good split between them. Only sport I can think of where men and women compete together at the Olympic level."

"Sport?" Dean scoffed. "More like pointing the horse toward a jump and hanging on."

" _Yeah_..." Sam said, catching his eye. "I think that's a huge oversimplification, Dean."

"Oh really? You a horse expert or something, suddenly?"

"No." There was something in Sam's eyes that closed off suddenly. Dean caught it. Sam shut down the laptop. "I'm grabbing some sleep before we have to get up at dawn and try to weasel our way into a job. I sent a text message and she seemed pretty eager. So I think we'll be employed by tomorrow."

"Oh goody," Dean said, surreptitiously grabbing a hold of Sam's discarded Carhartt jacket.


	3. Chapter 3

**I don't know what's wrong with me. My mind is going strange places in this chapter. I blame Dean's influence.**

"Wake up! C'mon were late."

Dean grumbled and cracked open an eye. "Grmmph." He closed it again and eased back into the warm mattress.

He felt Sam grab his knee and shake it gently. "Get up, Dean."

Dean kicked Sam's hand off with an incoherent protest.

"I'm serious." Sam grabbed Dean's ankle and hauled him sideways.

"Bitch, stop touching my leg or I will end y-" Dean thumped unceremoniously to the floor in a tangle of blankets as Sam gave a hard yank. "Son of a _bitch"_! Dean glared daggers at his brother who was now busy buttoning up his flannel shirt and ignoring him.

Eventually, Sam gave the elder Winchester an unconcerned glance and tossed him his jeans and the ratty old grey hoodie. "Get dressed, dude. We gotta go."

Dean caught the hoodie but the jeans landed on his head. "Sammy." His tone had dropped into a gruff warning. Dean hauled himself to his feet. "Don't make me kill you."

Sam huffed. "Yeah, I'll take your threat more seriously when you're wearing pants."

Dean paused with one leg in his jeans. He looked up. "You think I can't take you in a pair of boxers?" There was a challenge in his voice.

"Dude, that sounds so wrong."

Dean finished buttoning his fly. It kinda did. "Whatever... You know what I mean."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Yeah...unfortunately I always do."

Sam picked up his jacket and went to thread an arm through the sleeve. The zipper was stuck half closed. " _What the hell?_ " It took a moment for him to register what was wrong. He untangled himself from the uncooperative jacket.

A long chain of paper clips looped around the front zipper and attached to the zippers at the side pockets effectively binding them together. _"Dean!"_ Sam tried to free the first malformed paperclip and paused, his brow furrowed in confusion. "Are these.. _. penises_?"

Dean gave a loud barking laugh as he tossed the hoodie over his head and slapped Sam against the chest with the back of his hand. "Thought you could use a mascot, Sammy."

Sam blinked. "I'm not sure if it's more disturbing that you took the time to do this or that you sat there and figured out how to bend my office supplies into interlocking dicks." He freed his front zipper finally and mangled the other end of the paper clip chain to free his pockets. He tossed the aluminum mess at his brother, who ducked. "What are you, twelve?"

Dean sniggered and shoved his feet into his boots.

"You are. You're mentally frozen at the developmental level of a twelve year old."

" _Hey._ That took skill. That's a work of modern art right there." Dean finished tying his laces. "Had to get the right shape and still have them interlock."

Sam shook his head. He tried not to laugh. He really did. He didn't want to egg his jackass brother on, but sometimes Dean was just so fucking _ridiculous_... "Yeah. I'm sure you could've earned an engineering degree with the skill it took."

"It's art, Sammy."

"Ok, Cezanne. Let's go to work."

* * *

Dean threw a pitchfork of manure into a wheelbarrow. "This is bullshit."

"Horse shit," Sam corrected from the nearby empty stall.

"I am armed with a pitchfork, so don't get smart with me."

"Okay. I'll try to be stupid."

Well. This had been one really annoying, yet effective way to search the barn top to bottom. Babbling Creek Equestrian Center was the sister stable to Oakwood Stables. It had the a similar layout of 15 stalls on either side of a concrete floor plan. It boasted an attached indoor riding ring with new rubber footing, an outdoor ring with sand footing and an eventing course. There were white fenced paddocks. The facilities were pristine and new. Well, as pristine as they could be with 1,000 pound hay-burners that seemed to shit more than they ate. Though the horses were outside for now, at least, leaving the brothers to move around easier. Why the fuck it was called _Babbling Creek_ escaped Dean as there wasn't a creek, pond, river, brook, ocean or _any_ body of water that he could see anywhere. He would've been satisfied with a fucking puddle, but nope.

The barn manager had hired them on the spot. Two more or less punctual, clean-cut barn hands willing to work for a song. She snapped them up immediately. Her name was Jeannette Freeford, and everything about her mannerisms screamed _money_ to Dean. She was cooly polite in the way that the upper class so often were. In a way that felt disingenuous to Dean, but then he'd always mistrusted white collar people with their affectations and politeness and bullshit. How Sam dealt with them in Stanford, _surrounded_ himself with them was beyond him. It was everything opposite how they had been raised and more often than not those same people had treated them like peasants as they floated from school to school. Dean felt so much more at home with honest, down-to-earth working people. People who said it like it was. Although, he had to admit, upper-class women were really pretty to look at. -And more than a few of them over the years seemed to have had a thing for a rough and tumble bad boy like himself. Forbidden fruit _,_ he supposed.

The Winchesters didn't ask about the murder straight off, preferring to snoop around unhindered, however, Sam negotiated that they would start working the evening shift the next day. Monsters liked the night. They never seemed to fuck around with anyone at 6 am for some reason. They were nocturnal sons of bitches.

The morning shift had been very quiet. Except for Jeanette coming to check in on them every now and again. Sam had settled into a suspiciously easy rhythm and was several stalls ahead of Dean, like he were born to shovel shit or something. _Maybe he would have been a good lawyer after all,_ Dean quipped inside his own mind. Sam finished and hauled out the hose to fill the water buckets as Dean took out his EMF meter and swept the now clean stall he was occupying. _Nothing._ "Sam, I'm finding nothing."

"There's still a couple you haven't checked out. Plus there's the tack room and the wash stall."

Dean grumbled and shoved the meter back into his coat pocket. He paused suddenly, kicking at the shavings under his feet. A dark stain was underneath them, half absorbed by the thin wood pieces. Almost rusty brown but Dean knew the various shades of dried and non-dried versions of it anywhere. _Blood_. And intermixed with that, something black and viscous with a tang of ozone that he almost didn't have to put his finger in to know what it was. "Sammy, I found something."


	4. Chapter 4

Sam stood next to Dean and wrinkled his forehead, his eyebrows drawing together to give him the expression of a puzzled labrador. "Is that.. _.Ectoplasm?_ "

"I'm thinking so," Dean replied absently. "I mean I know we haven't seen it much, but it's pretty text book don't you think? Except...shouldn't my EMF meter have gone crazy at this stuff?"

"Yeah, it definitely should do something. Maybe the meter is on the fritz?"

"Can't be. I made it."

"That should be an explanation as to why it _doesn't_ work."

Dean pulled out the meter again and swept it over the area. Nothing. He crouched down and moved the box closer. The needle began to jump once it was about a foot away. "Okay...so weak ass ectoplasm?"

"Weak ass meter?"

"Sam, I will beat you."

"But...wait...isn't ectoplasm like angry ghost, vengeful spirit type of stuff?"

"I thought so." Dean bent over to grab some of the shavings with his hand. He dumped it into the pocket of his coat and wiped his hands on his jeans. "This shit is gross."

"Well there goes my pooka theory." Sam almost sounded remorseful.

"I don't get it. I mean it's clearly a HORSE doing the murdering, right? I mean, I'll buy a lot of things, but a _ghost horse_ angry enough to give off ectoplasm?"

Sam snorted. "So that's where you draw the line, huh?"

"Yeah. That's just stupid. It doesn't make sense."

"But monsters drowning people in their sinks and Bloody Mary taking people's eyes out does?"

Dean looked at him like he was an idiot. "Yeah. _Duh._ "

"And wraiths, wendigos, witches. They're all kosher in the Dean Handbook?"

"Well yeah, Sammy. They make sense."

"Oh good. You know, I thought you'd lost your ability to discern fantasy from reality or something."

Dean leaned against his pitchfork. "I mean doesn't something have to have a _soul_ in order to be a ghost?"

Sam shrugged. "I don't know. Seems like it. I mean that's what we've been taught."

Dean looked at his brother, cutting him off before he had a chance to go on. "Oh no. Do _not_ launch into some kind of All Dogs Go to Heaven Sermon."

"I don't know, but it's possible, isn't it?"

The answer was immediate. "No."

"How is it _not_ possible, Dean?" Sam ran his fingers along the inside of the bars, leaving streaks in the dust. His eyes scanned the surrounding sill.

"Because my goddamn _Big Mac_ does not have a _soul,_ Sam! There are no McMoos wandering around with halos."

"Well, since they're not really made from beef, you're probably right."

Dean pushed Sam out the door. "Get outta my stall, smart ass."

"It's not your stall, Dean." He looked at the brass name plaque. "It's _Handsome Stranger's._ "

Dean beamed, eyes alight with a mischievous flicker. "See? It _is_ my stall."

Sam slid the barred door shut and locked it.

"Sam, open the door."

Sam walked off. His lanky form disappearing into the room on the opposite side of the concrete aisle way.

 _"Sammy!"_

Dean spent 5 minutes trying to stick his arm out of the bars far enough to get his fingers on the sliding lock. "You are an asshole, little brother," he mumbled, mostly to himself.

"Learned from the best." Sam's voice floated to him from the tack room. "Now we know how hard it is for a horse to escape out of one of those stalls." He poked his head out. "With as long as it just took you, do you think any horse is jail breaking that stall?

Dean slid the door open. "Not likely. Unless someone let it loose."

"Okay, yeah well we have no motive for that one. You think Handsome Stranger is a horse Charlie Manson?"

"I don't know. Let's dump this wheelbarrow and go look at the horses."

Dean rolled the fucking annoyingly weighted piece of equipment to the manure pile and dumped it over. "So unlike the last two, this place has no gore over by the wash stall?"

"No. Didn't see any blood anywhere, except for that stall you found the ectoplasm in."

"Where did she die?"

"Don't know. Haven't brought it up to Jeanette yet."

"Where are the hot girls?" Dean asked.

Sam rolled his eyes. "It's 11 AM. Probably at school or work. I think we'll have better luck on the evening shift...but at least this will let us look at stuff during daylight. Dean, Jeanette approached me earlier and offered to have us to stay in the little trailer out in the back of the property. It will definitely save us money, and it's as close to ground zero as we can get. I told her we'd do it. She said it needs a little work but I figure that shouldn't be a problem."

* * *

Okay," Sam took a sip of his soda, face buried in his laptop as usual.

Dean tucked into his burger. His _soulless_ burger and looked at his brother expectantly. "So, what do the victims have in common?"

"Young, aspiring athletes. All alone at night, all at the same lunar cycle. All within a few miles radius...we got some blood stains, some ectoplasm, and a big pile of nothing."

"Right...how about where they live? Same neighborhood? Same associates?"

"Nope and nope." Sam sat back with a long sigh. "I have no clue. Two of the barns are newly built. I mean they all showed at the same events as competitors. So...maybe someone with a hex bag or some hoodoo curse?" He rolled his shoulders to get the tension out. "I think I'm actually going to be sore from shoveling stalls tomorrow."

Dean ignored him and brought a chipped mug of coffee to his lips. "Maybe we should put a call in to Bobby?"

"Already have. He's as clueless as us right now, but he is doing some research."

Dean looked around at the little diner they'd discovered. It was a hole in the wall, with $1. 97 breakfasts and chipped mismatched coffee mugs and worn booths with seats with broken springs. "I kinda like this place."

Sam's eyes were glued to the computer screen "Uh huh." He replied absently.

"Should we go check out the trailer?" Dean asked. "I'm actually pretty tired."

"Yeah...okay."

The drive back to _Babbling Creek_ was short and they drove past the immaculate barn and pastures until they found a little dirt path overgrown with weeds and littered with rocks. It seemed totally incongruous with the rest of the farm. Tire tracks rutted the hardened mud and Dean clenched his teeth as he maneuvered Baby down the path, apologizing to her the whole way. "God, Sam are you sure this is the way?" He asked, just as they pulled into sight of a dilapidated trailer and pulled to a halt, shutting down the engine. They both sat there in silence a moment.

"Well," Sam said cautiously, "she said it needed a little work..."

"I can see why they hid this in back of the property. It looks like the place Sloth was locked in the basement of in _Goonies_."

"I think there's a good chance Sloth _might_ be locked in there."

"Sammy, next time we look at the place _before_ we agree to stay there."

 **Thanks for reading, guys. Please drop me a review!**


	5. Chapter 5

"Okay. So this place might not be so bad," Sam said, attempting optimism. He banged his head on the low hanging doorway as he said it.

Dean brushed away a cobweb. "I'm pretty sure this trailer is a portal to Hell. It's like the whole thing is slanted." He listed sideways as he said it.

"It _is_ slanted."

"Great job, Sammy. I love it."

"Hey. It's free. There's a back up generator for electric and a water spigot outside. We've squatted in worse places than this." Sam ran a hand over the dust covering the built in tabletop. "I'll clean it tonight."

"Yeah, you do that." Dean flopped into one of the overstuffed chairs. It groaned unhappily. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. "'M tired."

"Yeah," Sam said, watching his brother drift off almost immediately. "Me too."

Sam sort of envied Dean's ability to just conk out wherever they were. He could sleep on chairs, floors, seats, beds, he'd even seen him nod off standing up once. Of course, that was usually because Dean ran his body ragged...to the edge of endurance- until it just gave up on him and forced him to rest. He'd be down and out...Completely out- for about 4 hours and then back at it again, surviving with short cat naps if he needed them. Dean was nothing if not adaptable.

Sam was never quite so lucky. Especially since Jess had died. Often he had nightmares of fires and white dressing gowns and bleeding wombs. He scrubbed a hand over his face and looked around. Well he could make do. Maybe he'd find some cleaning supplies under the kitchen sink... he crouched down and opened the creaky cabinet.

There was an ancient plunger. A 2,000 year old sponge. A rusted can of ajax. A dead mouse carcass. All the essentials of living. At this point he'd call the dead mouse a win, as long as he didn't find a human head stuffed in there, all was good.

Okay. So he needed to make a short run to the stables to borrow some cleaning supplies. Easy enough while Dean napped. It made sense. Dean did so much for him, really. Picking up the slack when he flagged. The least he could do was clean out the trailer. This was a long cry from Stanford. He missed it... but as much as he kinda wished his brother _hadn't_ come back into his life. In a weird way, he was glad that he had.

Sam started to set out across the field. It really was a beautiful location. Quiet, isolated. The leaves were turning, a riot of golds and oranges and reds. He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked at the pastures of horses as he walked. A small figure was approaching him... she was lithe and pretty and he watched the sway of her hips as she walked. She smiled when she approached. "You must be Sam."

"Yes."

"Hi." She extended her small hand and he took it in a gentle shake. "I'm Leslie." She looked up at him with blue eyes fringed with dark lashes.

"Hi Leslie." He gave her his dimpled smile. She responded immediately to it.

"Jeanette told me to give you some stuff to help out with fixing up the trailer."

"Oh good we could really use some."

She glanced in the direction of the old ramshackle structure. "You know, we used to hide in that thing when I was a kid and smoke pot."

Sam barked a laugh, taken aback by her audacity.

She gave him a pointed look. "Or make out with boys."

"Well, then I guess it really _does_ need cleaning."

He saw her eyes drift to his hand. He somehow instinctively understood that she was searching for a wedding band. Okay. Subtle this one was not. He wasn't ready yet. Wasn't even remotely over Jess. Didn't want sex. He resolved to pawn her off on his brother.

They stepped into the stable and in contrast to the morning there was a bustle of activity. Girls and horses were dotted along the aisles. Oh god. He was going to need to keep Dean on a leash. This was like throwing a pirahna into a goldfish tank _. Oh, Dean._

Leslie grabbed his arm as they ducked under a huge chestnut standing on the crossties. "Becareful. That's Lionel. He's a stallion. Be extra aware when you handle him. Some of the mares are in heat. A stallion will hurt you to get to a mare in season."

He raised an eyebrow. "Good to know, thanks."

She bent over and handed Sam a large bucket full of cloths, nails and a hammer, cleaning supplies and a few staples like macaroni and cheese. "She said stop at the house later and she has some bedding you can borrow."

"Thanks."

"You're gonna like it here, Sam."

"I think so." He exhaled through his nose. "I hear this place is haunted."

She looked shocked. "Really? from where?"

He shrugged. "I can't remember. So it's not?"

"No. But we did have a horrible accident here a few weeks ago."

"Oh no. What happened?"

"Carla was here after hours finishing up Dondero for a show in the morning. You know there's always those late night 'oh my God I have to make my horse look presentable' panics the night before a show."

Sam crooked his mouth into a half smile. "Yeah. So I've seen."

She lifted an eyebrow. "You ride?"

He shrugged it off. "Me. No, not really. Knew someone who did." There was a reflectiveness in his eyes.

She ignored it, eager to get to her story. "So anyway-we found her in the morning by the wash stall. Trampled."

Sam faked shock. "What? My god. Was she okay?"

"No...she was dead. It was horrible."

"Who found her?"

"Not me, Thank god. It was the barn help before you. It shook her up pretty badly. She chose to quit shortly after."

"Can't blame her...Was it Dondero who trampled her?"

"Couldn't be." Leslie leaned close and he angled his head down to listen. "He was in his stall. They were all in their stalls."

"Well that must be where the Haunted rumor came from."

"God. Now you've got me freaked out that there's Carlas spirit wandering around."

"Were you friends?"

Leslie hesitated. "A little. I didn't know her really well. She was sort of remote. I'm the opposite. I'm _friendly_ , you know?" She gave Sam a little bump with her shoulder.

He smiled shyly, dropping his gaze. "Yeah, I think I'm getting the picture."

Leslie was looking up at him with a curious smile. She really was pretty, he thought.

He blushed at the scrutiny. "What?"

"Nothing." She said playfully. "You're just so...shy."

That made him blush a little deeper. He smiled again, suddenly self conscious, all dimples and boyish charm. "Yeah. Thats...just...me, I guess. Sometimes I wish I were were a little more like Dean."

"Dean's the other guy. Your _brother?_ " The word had weight to it like she were testing the waters.

"Yeah. He's my big brother. He just doesn't have a shy bone in his body and I think that must be nice sometimes, you know?"

She smiled up at him again. "It might be...but I kinda like the shy types. There's so much under that shell, you know?"

Sam felt the flush rise to his cheeks. AGAIN. He snorted.

God he was so out of practice at this. Not like he was ever particularly GOOD at it, but his years at Stanford had loosened him up a little where he didn't view every person he came in contact with as a potential threat. He had learned to talk to people and apparently that ability was gone.

"Yeah well...I gotta get back to the trailer." He held up his bucket, I need to clean. Like a lot."

Tell me when you get to cleaning the shower." Leslie teased.

Sam laughed again. "You are relentless."

"You have no idea." She paused. "I have to go get Stranger out of the pasture anyway."

Sam cocked an eyebrow. "You own Handsome Stranger?"

Leslie's mouth opened for a moment, and she seemed suddenly cautious, like Sam was a stalker. "Yeah, why is he a celebrity or something?"

"Oh no. I just...we were cleaning the stalls earlier and ..." he paused. Half truths were always the best idea as opposed to out and out fabrications. "I noticed his name on the brass plaque. Dean made a joke about himself being a handsome stranger, so the horse's name just kind of stuck out to me. I don't know why I was surprised. I mean obviously someone here had to own him. I just thought it was odd that he was yours after the whole incident."

She looked slightly relieved.

"You know," Sam put a little flirtation in his tone, "kinda like kismet."

She returned the smile back. "You remember that, Sam." She walked away, putting a little extra swing to her hips as she moved. Sam caught himself falling for the bait, his eyes tracing the curves of her ass beneath the tight beige breeches.

Later on, as he cleaned the shower while Dean napped, he blushed a little at the thought of Leslie that crept in.

* * *

Dean awoke to a much cleaner version of where he'd fallen asleep. It disoriented him for a moment until he caught sight of Sam perched at the little kitchen table, his height making him look awkward and scrunched. He was lying with his head face down in his arms, breathing evenly. There was a mop bucket next to him filled with grey water.

It was an impressive amount of cleaning for a short time. He must have finally gotten tired and passed out. Dean felt an inexplicable wave of affection sweep over him. He'd missed this when Sam had been away at Stanford. Just the comfortable predictability of his brother's presence smooshed into wherever he could fit his lanky body to try to rest. Dean got up and flicked his brother's ear.

Sam startled awake with a cry and nearly tipped the chair over. "Jesus Dean! Why do you do that shit?"

"Cause I love ya, Sammy."

"God, then learn to hate me, will ya?"

"Nope. Can't ever happen." Dean said cheerfully. He kicked the leg of Sam's chair as he passed. It teetered precariously and Sam had to lurch to his feet to avoid falling. He nearly banged his head on the low ceiling.

"Careful there, Sasquatch. They don't make em tall enough for your kind."

Sam's bitch face greeted Dean's playful smile. "It's amazing I don't have PTSD from spending an entire childhood with you."

"Remember when I bought a dress at the salvation army and hid all your clothes in the car and you had to put the dress on so you could go out to the Impala and get them? You cried."

"I was _six_ , Dean. I was humiliated. I had to walk the length of the hotel lobby like that."

Dean laughed. "I'm sorry. That actually was kinda mean now that I'm thinking about it. I think Dad yelled at me."

"That could be the only parenting decision I've actually agreed with Dad on."

Dean shot him a glare, his jaw tight. Then shook it off. "Wanna grab something to eat and then go break into the barn and do an EMF sweep on some horses?"

Sam looked fairly tired, but nodded. "Okay. Sure."

The barn had sort of a lonely rather sad feel about it at night, Sam thought as he flicked on the light. The horses were all munching hay in the dim light. Swishing tails and stamping. He paused for a moment, lost in thought. Dean slapped him hard on the back. "Come on, Sammy! Get moving."

Dean already had out his meter and was sticking it in the face of any horse unlucky enough to have a window cut into the bars of their stall who approached the man out of curiosity. The ones without windows, he slid open stall doors to walk in and sweep the sensor over the unsuspecting equines as they ate.

Sam was over by the wash stall scrutinizing the ground. "Why is it trampling people by the wash stall?" he asked aloud.

"It wants easy clean up?"

"Yeah. I'm sure that's it, Dean. Horses are known for their love of cleaning."

Dean's meter began to buzz. "I got something coming from this stall!" He stood perplexed in front of it, his brow furrowed. Sam looked up as Dean began to slide the door open. Sam saw the brass name plate in the darkness. LIONEL.

"Dean wait!"

"Huh?" Dean stopped in his tracks, the door half open and looked at Sam. Lionel shouldered into him, sending Dean whirling to the side like a rag doll and leapt into the aisle way, tail held high as he galloped toward Sam, hooves shooting sparks off the concrete with his momentum. Sam dove out of the way.

"Dean, you let THE STALLION out!" He yelled pressing himself up against the wall.

 **So I've had almost no feedback for this one. If you like it, let me know. Or I shall unleash the stallion upon thee.**


	6. Chapter 6

Dean stood wide eyed before he managed to gather his wits, grab a broom leaning against the aisle and whack at the horse. It whirled and ran, plunging into the indoor arena.

Sam regained himself and slammed the gate closed after it, watching the horse plunge around madly, bucking in circles. He collapsed against one of the rails panting. "That was close."

Dean jogged up beside him, startled. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah no thanks to you! What the fuck, Dean?"

"I didn't LET the damn thing out, it barged past me."

Sam let his forehead rest against the railing for a moment.

"The EMF was going wild at that stall." Dean scrutinized the stallion which was now galloping madly around the far end of the ring. He gestured to it. "Look at that thing. It's obviously possessed."

"Go scan the stall before we try to figure out a way to put him back in." Sam's voice was weary.

There was a loud tear and suddenly the stallion was freed from its blanket. It gave a celebratory rear and ran around again. Sam was really beginning to appreciate geldings.

Dean came back. _"Nothing._ Nothing in the whole stall. It's the horse. I'm telling you."

"Go grab his halter and some grain. Maybe we can coax him over to us."

Dean's eyes widened. "You want to _handle_ that thing?"

"Well we can't leave it free in the indoor. Maybe it will tire itself out."

"I'm not sure _possessed_ creatures tire themselves out, Sammy." Dean replied, but he understood the logic of Sam's plan and he had no plan outside of ganking Secretariat. Which may or may not be a demon spawn. He was really starting to dislike horses.

The horse had lost steam by the time Dean returned with a feedbucket and a halter and lead. It was pawing the ground and rolling back and forth in the dirt.  
He raised an eyebrow. "That normal? Is it dyin' or something?"

"Normal." Sam said flatly.

"Here," Dean shoved a feed bucket of grain at Sam. "You can do that and I'll-" he held up the halter and lead rope, then he paused. The halter was an endless expanse of confusing clips and buckles and straps. He stared at it a moment, lost. "...put this over his head and..." he turned it around in his hands confused. It reminded him of women's bras. Now if he wanted to he was so familiar with them he could unhook them with his fricken teeth, but when he'd first encountered one, it was all straps and lace and fucking hooks and eyes. On the woman it was sexy as hell, off of her it looked like a medieval jenga tower.

Dean remembered the first times he'd tried to unclasp a bra without looking. So embarrassing.

"DEAN! Give me the halter- you're holding it upside down." Sam shoved the grain bucket at his brother. " _You_ lure it with the food."

"I wanna sweep it for EMF too." Dean turned on his meter and shoved it half into his breast pocket.

Sam swung the gate open and closed it behind them. They approached cautiously in tandem. Dean holding the bucket out, ready to throw it and run away at a second's notice.

Sam had shifted his energy into a calming warmth, speaking in a low monotone. "Easy, fella. Easy. Come here, Lionel. Want some grain?"

The horse snorted, ready to bolt. Sam held out his arms. "Okay. Shhh. Easy." He motioned at Dean. "Shake the bucket."

"Dean shook it. "Here...buddy."

Lionel lowered his head and dove for the bucket, Dean startled and dropped it. Sam bent down and slipped the halter over its head.

Dean picked up the trailing rope on the ground and handed it to Sam. "Don't forget his leash."

Sam looked like he would have facepalmed if he'd had a free hand. "Lead rope, Dean. It's not a dog."

The horse kept eating regardless.

"Oh, _excuse me._ I don't read _Horse and Hounds Weekly_ to keep up on all the riding lingo."

"Okay." Sam tugged on the lead and started to walk him back to the stall.

Feeling ineffectual, and wondering how and when his brother had become the fucking Horse Whisperer, Dean watched them leave and bent to retrieve the blanket the horse had ditched. The meter in his pocket went crazy.

He picked it up.

"What the hell?" It was definitely the blanket causing the disturbance.

Dean flipped it over in his hands and felt lumps in the sheet evenly sewed into the lining every few inches. He opened one of them with his pocket knife and pulled out a magnet.

* * *

Sam shoved Lionel back into his stall and closed the door with a relieved sigh.

Dean was behind him holding the now worse for wear blanket. " _This_ was setting off the meter."

Sam frowned.

"Its got magnets sewed into it. Who the fuck puts magnets on their horses?"

Sam's eyebrow went up like he'd had an epiphany. "It's a therapeutic blanket. Magnets speed blood flow and healing to sites of overexertion and injury. Of course."

"These people are fucking crazy. Magnets on horses? Do they get massages and pedicures too?"

Sam was silent.

"Oh God, don't tell me."

"Okay, I won't."

Dean went quiet and studied his brother. He leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. "So you gonna tell me how you know so much about horses suddenly? Last I checked we've been near them like...oh...NEVER."

Sam's jaw tightened minisculey. He looked away.

Dean leaned over to look at his reaction. " _A girl_? Was there a girl who rode?"

Sam shrugged. "A friend in Stanford had horses. I spent a lot of time with her. The horse was sort of part of the package."

Dean used quotation fingers "A friend?"

Sam flushed. "Yes, Dean, a _friend._ You know about those, right?"

His brother's voice had sunk into that deep teasingly loud tone. "Sam- _may!_ Bangin' the blue blooded bitches at Stanford!"

"God, could you be more vulgar?"

Dean went to open his mouth.

"No!" Sam frantically held up his hands. "Nevermind. That was a rhetorical question and not a challenge."

"I'm proud of you, man. Studying some _real life anatomy_ instead of just sticking your nose in law journals."

Sam's shoulders tightened a little defensively.

Dean decided to drop it as the stallion stuck his nose at the bars to sniff at Dean's arm.

Dean turned and looked at him. "Thing's possessed."

Sam shook his head. "It's not possessed, Dean. It's just horny."

Dean nodded sagely and stuck his fingers in the bars for Lionel to sniff. So we are no closer to figuring any of this out.

Sam sighed. "It appears not. I'm going to keep looking. Give me the meter, I'll see if Handsome Stranger's stall is still emitting anything. Or if he himself is."

Dean handed Sam the meter and shoved the blanket into the feed chute. It landed at the horse's feet. "They're gonna wonder how he got out of this in the morning."

Dean looked at the stallion appraisingly. It blinked its large dark eye, snorting. "Look dude, I've been pent up before... I get it. You're so tense you could bust. That filly down there is winking at you, flipping her mane. But it's just a tease, man. She doesn't mean anything by it. You have to get it together ...you can't just run people down and try to rape random women. You can't like start fights with every guy you see and just binge eat. It's not good."

Sam snorted. "You need to take your own advice."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Look at the poor guy. I mean he doesn't even have thumbs. He can't take care of that shit himself, Sammy."

"Oh God, Dean! I do not need that image."

"I'm just letting him know I get him is all."

"Well, you have your heart to heart with him and I'm going to work."

Dean sat on a hay bale. "You do that."

He leaned his head against the wall, trying to puzzle what they had so far. Not a whole hell of a lot. They still hadn't even defined what they were dealing with. Though the ectoplasm pointed toward vengeful spirit.

Things would be so much easier if Dad were with them. He probably would have had the case solved by now. Although part of him enjoyed just winging it with Sammy. Truth be told, that's what he'd always pictured before Sam had fucked off to Stanford and ruined everything...him and his brother taking over the family business and working together ganking shit and causing trouble. The only problem was the way it had come about. Dad disappearing without a trace and Sam in pieces over some girl he'd been in love with. None of it was supposed to be this way.

 **Drop me a review! Love to hear from you.**


	7. Chapter 7

Sam shouldered into the stable in the early afternoon. Dean was shoveling horse shit dutifully, but Sam could sense the attitude all the way down the aisle. Honest work was wearing his brother thin.

"Okay," he dropped his voice and approached Dean who flung a pile of pissy shavings at the wheelbarrow, narrowly missing Sam.

"Hey!" Sam said, affronted. "Come on, man."

"You better have found something worthwhile at the library since you left me alone to clean horse shit all freaking morning. All these things do is eat and crap."

Sam furrowed his brow. "So you have a lot in common."

"I'm serious, Sam. My shoulder is sore from this."

"Jeez, who pissed in your cheerios this morning?" Sam wasn't used to the foul mood. Dean usually found the humor in everything. When Dean didn't answer, he continued. "I did find something interesting. The barns are new, but these properties go back to the 1800s. There was a horse trader that owned this land. He had a livery and a house on this property. His house was actually located about where this stable is."

Dean paused with his pitchfork in the air. "And? Whoopty doo? Didn't like everyone own horses back in the day?"

"Remember _Black Beauty_?"

"The porno?"

"NO. God, Dean. Don't you read anything?"

"Yeah, _Playboy._ For the articles."

"Okay fine. Be purposefully obtuse." Sam gathered his thoughts. "My point is, horse traders were not nice back in the day. They aren't nice now... some of the auction dealers are horrible."

"Sam," Dean wearily leaned on the handle of the muck rake. "Get to the point without going all PETA on me."

A few of the girls walked in, and Sam watched their heads turn to look at his older brother as they walked by. Dean remained oblivious. How he had that effect on women escaped Sam. He could be grungy and covered in dirt, dressed like a hobo, in a foul mood, and he STILL literally turned heads.

"The point is, I looked up the guys name...Ichabod..."

"Crane?" Dean asked in horror.

"No. Stevenson."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "That supposed to mean anything to me? "

"No, but the fact that he was trampled to death by one of the horses he bought should. They found him near the wash stall with his head kicked in...shortly after, this place shut down and went to auction. It was vacant until the 80s when the second stable we went to was built. Then they built these two new facilities this past year.

I dug up the public record of the deed to this place. There was a creek on this property, by the way, over into the woods. They dammed it up in the 1940s. "

"Okay. So..." Dean had his thoughtful face on.

When Sam could get him focused, his brother often drew conclusions that astounded him. He was so much more intelligent than he gave himself credit for.

"Maybe building this stable somehow disturbed the spirit. You know how paranormal activity kicks up when people remodel or tear down structures?" Dean began. "Man, if I had an old house I'd never fucking remodel. Just leave shit where it is. For like ever. If the plumbing goes, I'd just get a bucket."

And then sometimes Dean said things like that. And Sam's estimation of him dropped.

Sam didn't dignify the statement with a response. He changed the subject. "So you see I _was_ working while you were shoveling. I wasn't just leaving you here to be a dick," Sam said, grabbing an extra rake. Dean ignored him.

Sam furrowed his brow. "Seriously, Dean what's wrong? You're acting kinda...off."

"So if I'm not in a happy mood and joking all the time, then something is wrong?"

Sam paused. "Generally, yes."

Dean put the rake down and showed Sam his blistered hands. "These don't put me in a great mood. Neither did Prince Alpo over there dragging me face first through the gate this morning."

Sam looked over at the grey gelding who had his ears perked in their direction. "You mean Prince Alpert? "

"No I mean Alpo. I got a shotgun in the back of the Impala, Sammy. We can make short work of the pushy ones."

Sam shook his head with a rueful smile, then looked back at his brother earnestly. "That's it? That's all that's wrong?"

Dean leaned closer to him, his eyes lit with a sudden flash of vulnerability. "I don't feel like we're any closer to finding Dad, Sammy. I feel like we're just taking stabs in the dark."

Sam brushed his bangs out of his own eyes with the back of his jacket sleeve. "Well we kinda ARE. We're just sort of making this up as we go."

"And then we run into something like this case and I don't even know what we're doing. Like we've been here for three days and we don't know squat about what's going on."

Sam's expression was suspicious. This just seemed so unlike Dean. He knew that Dean was a hell of a lot more bothered by Dad's disappearance than he was, but still it was odd to catch his brother in a mood to admit that. Sam felt a little guilty. He'd been so immersed in his own grief over Jessica and the death of his Stanford dreams he'd almost forgotten that Dean was stressed too.

In fact, it seemed throughout most of their lives Dean willingly shouldered the lion's share of whatever burden they were facing. In his youth he had been blissfully unaware of it. Then in his teens he recognized it and it irked him. Now he found it oddly touching. Strange how life moved you to feel differently about the same behavior depending on where you were on your own journey. He wondered what Dean thought of him. Then decided that maybe he didn't really want to know.


	8. Chapter 8

"Don't you think you're being a little hard on us?" Sam asked reasonably. "I just figured out a crap load of information and you found the ectoplasm in Handsome Stranger's stall. Now we have clues to go by."

Dean looked up at him wearily and Sam could tell that his brother wasn't in the mood to be comforted. He wanted to wallow in their sense of moved closer to Dean and put a hand on his shoulder. "And hey, we've got a rent free place to stay. We're earning some honest money."

"Honest money sucks," Dean replied.

As if on cue, Jeannette Freeford came down the aisle. Dressed in her close fitting breeches, black boots and a long sleeved polo shirt. Her shoulder length red hair drawn into a bun, from a distance one could almost forget she was in her late 50s. Up close though, the lines on her face marked her maturity. She stopped and looked at them frostily. "Dean, darling, can you prepare the trailer for tomorrow? Bedding, hay, water please. I'll be gone for the afternoon."

He smiled, although it didn't touch his eyes at all and gave her a pleasant "of course," which really meant "go fuck yourself."

"Thank you, sweetheart." Her condescending manner was clearly something subconscious.

She strode off and Dean glared after her. "Case in point. Honest work sucks."

Sam ignored him. "You know, we've been running non-stop. I mean what's wrong with us taking it easy for a bit? It's not a race."

"I like to know what we're dealing with."

"I would too. We'll figure it out. It just might take us a bit longer than it sometimes does. Hell, even Dad spent weeks or months on certain cases."

"Six months when you were in college and we were hunting a coven of witches."

Sam's eyebrows raised. "I didn't know."

"Yeah, well it sucked. Lots of manipulation and bodily fluids being spewed and..." Dean shuddered. "Good times."

"So yeah. Let's grab a bite for lunch? That little diner down the road?" It felt odd for Sam to be the one giving the "hunting is cool" pep talk. To be dragging Dean out of the doldrums.

"Excuse me." A blonde approached, buckling the strap to her black velvet Charles Owen helmet. "I need some help with Alpert." Her eyes traveled up and down both Winchesters. She smiled. "Can I ask one of you two?"

Dean stood up and approached her like a bee to honey. "Here to help and assist. I'm Dean." He jerked a thumb backward. "That's my brother Sam."

She smiled shyly and Dean responded accordingly. Sam watched his entire disposition change like it always did when he was surrounded by female attention. So predictable, his brother.

"I'm Chelsea. I need some help setting up some jumps." She paused with a flirtatious head tilt. "Figured a big, strong guy like you could sure help out."

Dean responded to the obvious flattery like she intended him to, practically tripping over himself in his enthusiasm to play white knight. He turned and looked at Sam over one shoulder. "Be back Sammy, gotta use my brawn to help out." He shot his brother a wink, and Sam smirked and huffed.

* * *

"Okay," Dean was already in a much better mood. Sam decided he should throw women at him whenever he was pissy. It was like Dean Prozac. "So I found out some stuff...besides her phone number and the cute little tattoo she has on her midriff."

"Dean you're hopeless sometimes, you know that?" Sam tugged on the hose and began to fill the water trough in the outside pasture, wincing as some spray shot back at him.

"Not hopeless! I'm an opportunist. Do you wanna hear what I got or not?" He sat on the edge of the water trough and stretched his legs out in front of him, crossing them at the ankles.

Sam raised an eyebrow.

"Okay, so she told me Jeanette Freeford's office up in the lounge has been having electrical problems. Lights flickering on and off, etc."

"Okay," Sam said, shifting the hose. "I guess we find an excuse to go take a look at her office. Doesn't she keep it locked?"

"Like we need a key."

Sam shrugged in acquiescence. "Find out anything else?"

"She has this cute rose tattoo peeking out of her pants when she stretches up to lift one of the jumps with me."

Sam thought about pushing his brother in. It would be so easy. Just one little PUSH. "Thanks for that. I know your love of botany is what drove you to share that with me."

Dean grinned, stood up and dusted off the back of his jeans.

"I mean about the case." Sam said after a moment.

"She wants to take me for a walk out in the woods to see where the stream used to be. I told her I'm into nature hikes. She said there's some cool animal bones back there. I figured I want to get her alone...You know to _pump_ her for information." He winked.

 _A kick, really._ He could still go right in with a well-placed kick. "Yeah," Sam shut off the hose. "You do that. I have a feeling there will be a lot more pumping and a lot less information."

Dean tripped over a mineral block sitting right next to his boot and almost went into the trough anyway. He windmilled his arms and Sam grabbed his jacket. "Careful."

"What the hell?"

Sam squinted. "Looks like a salt lick."

"They lick salt?"

"Yeah. If they lack it in their diet. I've seen it in the majority of the stalls."

"One day you are telling me how you know all this shit. I want details, Sammy." He slapped Sam on the back. "I know it involved Stanford hotties. Hey...You ever take a literal roll in the hay?"

Sam raised an eyebrow. "No."

"Oh come on, dude! Bucket list, man."

"Hay is like prickly and sharp, Dean."

"So? Get on top of her, she can deal with it."

"Oh that's courteous." The trough was so close. If only it wasn't mid October. If only Dean wouldn't retaliate in some worse way.

Sam had to walk away. He _had_ to or someone was going swimming. He threw the hose aside and started for the pasture gate. He caught the mischievous look in Dean's eye and instantly knew what Dean had in mind just before his brother lunged for him.

He sidestepped and deflected him sideways. _Great._ So his brother had had the same thought. One of them was going to end up wet. "Dean..." he rolled onto the balls of his feet, ready to grapple. _"Don't._ It's cold out "

Dean smirked. "That makes it more fun...tell me about your Stanford horse girl escapades and you don't get dunked."

"No."

"Come on, Sammy."

Dean started to circle him and Sam's nostrils flared. He tightened his jaw. "Don't. Come on."

Dean dove for him and Sam met him in a grapple. They struggled for a moment, each trying to gain the upper hand, before Sam started to inch them incrementally toward the salt lick. His ploy worked, Dean stepped on it with his boot and lost his balance.

Sam used the opening and caught Dean in a headlock. He bent him over the side of the water trough.

Dean grabbed Sam's arms and bucked to try and break the hold, but Sam's size gave him the advantage. He pushed the top of Dean's head over the water. "Yield." He growled.

"Bite me."

Sam dunked him under for a second and Dean's hands let go of his arms as he tried to push himself off the bottom of the trough. Sam pulled him up and he came up sputtering. "Are we done?"

"Fuck off."

"No? Okay."

Sam made a motion like he were going to dunk him again and Dean made himself a dead weight. He almost succeeded in getting out of the hold but Sam managed to wrestle one of Dean's damp arms behind his back. He pushed him to the edge of the water again and suddenly Dean tapped on the side of the trough two times with his free hand, signaling his submission. "I yield, man! That shit is cold."

"Yeah well its October, numbnuts." Sam released him and Dean wiped his dripping face with his sleeve.

Sam smirked. "Fun swim?"

"Loads." Dean stripped off his wet jacket and plaid cotton button up. The t-shirt underneath was damp too. "I'm not walking all the way back to the damn trailer to get a change of clothes." He pulled at the cotton clinging to him and grimaced.

"You could finish your shift topless, I'm sure the girls wouldn't mind."

"Bitch."

"Hey, you started it." Sam looked at Dean, his hair plastered to his forehead and felt badly. "You want my jacket? Or my plaid?"

" Fuck you," Dean replied grumpily, stripping off his t-shirt, his torso pale in the sunlight. A breeze blew. He felt his skin goose pimple and his nipples harden. "Your jacket's fine, Dude."

* * *

Snuggled into Sam's zipped jacket and wearing nothing else up top, Dean jimmied the lock that led into Jeanette's office. He stopped once and looked around at the sound of women's voices but they passed by and he continued, perching awkwardly on the steps that led up to the empty room. "Come on," he jiggled the handle and the door opened. Dean slipped inside and closed it behind him.

The office was clean and well decorated. It felt more like an elaborate den than a barn manager's place. _God, this bitch is loaded,_ Dean thought, looking at the leather chair.

He pulled out the EMF and began a sweep. Nothing spiked. He flipped on the lights. No flickering. The wiring was inside the walls, hard to tell if she had a short. Shoving the still active meter into his pocket, Dean started to rifle through the desk drawers. He had no clue what he was searching for. He just hoped he would know if he found it.

* * *

Sam leaned against the wall, casually watching the activity. He'd lost the argument that it would be best to go through the office at night because...well he didn't know WHY exactly. Because his brother was an impulsive jackass? Because Dean was annoyed at his swim in the water trough and needed to focus on something else? Or he got off on the risk of getting caught? Sam crossed his arms and waited.

And there came Leslie. All beautiful and blonde and much too happy to see Sam. "Hi," she smiled.

" Oh hi, Leslie."

"So how are you settling in?"

"Fine." Sam crossed his arms tighter. Come on, he did not need this right now.

"Sam, would you like to grab a cup of coffee with me sometime?"

"Uh...sure. I guess." He almost winced. _Smooth, Sam._

She locked eyes with him. "What's wrong? You seem tense."

"Nothing...so what have you been up to?"

"Jeanette and I just went out to grab more hay. We just got back. Can you help us unload?"

"Sure...Jeanette?" Sam felt his stomach drop with a dull panic. " Yeah just...ummm...let me make a call. Be right there." He ducked into the tack room and tried to dial Dean's number.

Dean's cell rang as he was rifling through the desk. The EMF in his pocket beeped once. The cell rang again.

He swore.

 _Not now... Dad? Maybe it's Dad?_ He glanced at the display. _Sam._

He picked up, annoyed. "What?"

"Get out. She's back. Get out."

The words weren't even out of the receiver before Dean heard a pair of feet on the stairs. _Shit!_ He hung up and frantically looked around for a place to hide. Besides the potted plant and the desk, there didn't look like many options. He slammed the drawer, flicked off the light and dove under the desk. Trying to fit 6 feet of him under it wedged in with the chair wasn't easy. He tried to quiet his breathing.

There was a pause and then a rattle of the door handle. Jeanette stood silhouetted in the doorway, shock on her face that the door was unlocked. She flicked on a light and closed the door. Dean tried to scrunch himself up tighter. This was stupid. She'd have to be blind to not notice his hulking bulk under the table. His brain started firing a hundred miles an hour.

Her legs stopped just before before him as she scanned the room for something a miss. They _were_ nice legs. The close fit breeches and those black boots helped. She was going to pass him by. He was sure of it, and then suddenly she started to crouch down to look under the desk.

Dean's instincts took over and he crawled toward her. They were almost nose to nose by the time her face appeared. " _Dean?_ What the hell are you doing in my office?!"

 _"Shhh."_ He whispered, dropping his voice an octave.

She stood up and backed away, startled. Dean stayed on his hands and knees and put every once of sensuality he had in the movement as he pushed out from under the desk. "That wasn't the reaction I was hoping for." He whispered, rising to his knees and looking up at her.

"What the hell reaction were you hoping for? Why did you break into my office? I'm calling the cops if you don't get out."

"Didn't we have a... _moment_ earlier?" He kept his voice husky. He licked his lips. " Tell me I'm wrong."

"What?" Her confusion was beginning to win out over her anger.

He took that as a good sign and pressed forward. "This morning. In the hall. You called me darling."

"I call everyone darling".

"Come on Jeanette. Tell me you haven't felt _THIS_." He gestured between them.

She hesitated.

He unzipped Sam's jacket slowly, never breaking eye contact. He saw her startled eyes travel to his bare chest and down to the dip of his low cut jeans. He kept his abs contracted, regretting the three grilled cheese sandwiches he'd had for lunch.

She was too startled to say anything. "I just wanted some time alone with you, baby." He crawled forward again until he was at her feet. And then stopped. She didn't move away. _Oh God, how far was he prepared to go with this?_ His amulet swung against his bare chest as he drew himself up to his knees again. Slowly, he reached out to touch the front of her thigh.

She stiffened. "Dean..."

He drew himself forward and placed his nose against her belly, tracing his hands up. From this angle he could almost forget the age difference. The boots were pretty sexy. Her body was nice.

Her hands tangled in his hair. Bingo. He had her. "Dean, we can't here. Not now."

He drew himself up to his full height, even though his knees complained at the slowness of it. Great. Twenty-six and arthritis already. _Awesome._ He was looking down on her now and she stepped forward. He drew her against his bare chest and her hands slipped inside his jacket. His heart started to pound. He really didn't want to go _there._ He was starting to feel vaguely trapped.

"I didn't know you felt this way," she said and he watched her demeanor soften. Maybe soften into the woman she was when she'd been younger, probably married before she'd found herself single. He knew how it went. First wife, business man. Starter family. Mistress. Traded in for a younger model as soon as he hit it big.

Dean took a stab. "He must have been crazy when he divorced you."

"How'd you know?" She asked.

"Beautiful sophisticated woman like you had to have been married at some point. I'm sorry he hurt you." Oh my god. What was he saying? _Dig the fucking hole deeper, Winchester. Go ahead._

She blinked tears back.

Okay now he was starting to feel guilty.

He backed off. "You're right," he said, zipping Sam's jacket. "We can't here. It's not right. I'm sorry."

She stood staring at him. Still looking shell shocked. "My place." She whispered finally, a hint of desperation on her tone. "My place tonight?"

FUCK. He dropped his gaze and turned his head slightly. "Jeanette. I..." he looked back at her. "We should take time to think this over."

"Please, Dean. My place. Eight o-clock?"

"Yes." _Fuck... what was he saying? Fuck_. "Of course."

"Why me?" Her voice was awed. "With all these beautiful girls your age?"

"I like women with experience. Maturity." _Well, the experience part was true at least_. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be so forward...it's just _you,_ baby." _Where was this shit coming from?_ Whenever he improvised a lie, things just fell out of his mouth without bothering to pass by his brain. He began to back away and she tangled her arms around him and brought her face up for a kiss. He stiffened, but closed his eyes and pressed his lips to hers, teasingly. Gently. He pulled away and she was staring at him enraptured. He didn't know whether to be proud or disgusted with himself. He thumbed toward the door. " I have to go." He made his way down the steps, feeling a weird mixture of guilt, relief, and then impending anxiety.

Sam was waiting for him in the tack room. He grabbed his brother's collar. "What happened? Did she find you?"

"Kinda."

"And?"

"I feel like I need a shower, Sam."

 **I've clearly lost my mind. I apologize. Feedback is always fun!**


	9. Chapter 9

"You told her _what?_ " Sam asked incredulously.

"I don't know. It was the first thing I could think of. You know me when I'm cornered Sam, I just say shit."

"You could have like _not_ broken into her office during the day, you know."

"Look, done is done. I don't need my ass chewed out by you."

They exchanged a long look, laced with mutual frustration.

Dean turned away and ran a hand over his face. "Maybe...maybe she won't be so bad..." he mumbled. "I can take one for the team."

Sam stared at him, incredulous. "Dean...you are _not_ prostituting yourself out for a case! Come on, man! Just tell her you're feeling sick or something."

"Oh I'm feeling sick, all right." He sat heavily on a closed tack box, shoulders rounded in defeat.

Sam stared at him for a minute, decided to spare his brother's pride and change the subject. "We still have to get the keys to the truck and the horse trailer and make sure everything is situated for her."

"Huh?" Dean looked up, eyes a little unfocused, still lost in his own maudlin thoughts.

"Earlier, she asked us to get the trailer ready for tonight."

"Oh," Dean said flatly. "You're right...don't make _me_ go ask her for the keys to the truck?"

Sam pursed his lips and looked at his brother.

Dean swore.

* * *

Dean rapped softly on Jeanette Freeford's office door, his heart pounding in his chest.

He poked his head in.

She was sitting at her office desk and when she saw him her eyes lit up and she smiled radiantly. "Hello, Dean." She crossed her legs, "may I help you?" Her gaze traveled him up and down once and he shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny.

"Uh, Sam and I were going to get the, uh, trailer ready for tomorrow...and we need the keys to back it out so we can load it..." He shifted and licked his dry lips.

She gestured him in. "Come here."

He didn't like the seductive tone of her voice.

Dean took a few steps forward until he was standing at the edge of her desk. She opened the second drawer, filled with papers stacked under an old horseshoe used as a paper weight. She shifted the horseshoe and dug under the paper for the truck keys. The EMF meter in Sam's pocket beeped and he jumped.

She frowned "What was that?"

He reached in and flicked it off. "I forgot to turn off my electrical meter, I heard you were having wiring problems up here and was doing a sweep before you showed up."

"I have been. That's so sweet." She retrieved the keys, closed the drawer and stood up, facing Dean. He backed off a step, nervous.

"Oh Dean." Her brown eyes softened and she reached for his cheek.

He closed his eyes to hide the wince. Her hand was soft and gentle. He concentrated on the feel of it. "Why are you so nervous?" She slid her arms around his neck, pulling him in for a kiss.

He stiffened and then let her. Her lips found his and though they weren't plump and wet, they were still soft and yielding. She held the contact for a second and then broke away. She was breathing heavily. "Thank you for that."

He felt guilt course through him again. He nodded.

She reached around and placed her hand on his lower back, into the gentle arch there, and then slid it down further, tracing over the curve of his ass and diving into his back pocket. He repressed an unmanly squeak of protest. She pulled it away and then moved back to sit on the chair, eyes full of mischief that made her look much younger. "Go on. Take care of that trailer, Leslie and I are going to go grab a bite at the house. I'll see you tonight."

Belatedly, Dean realized that she'd slipped the keys into his back pocket. "Tonight," he said, feeling weak and very young.

He made as graceful an exit as possible, which resulted in him catching the tread of his work boot on the lip of the stairs and slipping in an semi-controlled slide down about five steps until he regained his balance.

He burst into the tack room to find Sam backed against the wall by Leslie. She had an hand on his arm. Sam was visibly flinching away like she were a coiled snake instead if a young 115 pound package of _YES._

His own embarrassment forgotten, Dean smirked at his brother's naked distress. Sam's sheer size juxtaposed with his fear of the little spitfire before him amused him. They looked up at the sound of his tread on the floor, Sam flushing with relief and Leslie backing away with a cheerful smile. "Hi Dean."

"Hi, sweetheart," he said in his smoky voice. "I need to borrow my brother for a bit."

"Okay" she said with a small pout, "make sure you bring him back to me later."

"Sure thing." He smiled at her with all his considerable Dean Winchester charm as Sam edged away from her and fell in step beside his brother as they circled around back to the trailers.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Dean launched in on Sam. "Dude what is wrong with you? She's ready to climb you like a tree and you're acting like she's a scorpion you found crawling up your pant leg."

Sam huffed, his jaw tight, his posture tighter. "It's my business who I want to sleep with, Dean."

"Oh, easy there, Touchy McToucherton."

"I'm not..." Sam looked at him in frustration. They stopped on the dirt track, the occasional pebble sounding as they shifted their feet. "I'm not like you Dean. I need an emotional connection and I'm...it's too soon." He looked vulnerable suddenly.

"It's been months, Sam." Dean said softly.

" _Months,_ Dean. Not years. Not decades...months. It's been months since we've seen Dad. Have you stopped missing him yet? "

Dean winced and the wall came up, shutting his brother out. "Whatever. Just tryin' to be helpful. Let's get this fucking trailer packed before we lose all the light."

Dean tossed the truck keys to Sam. "Get it hitched and move it to the front of the barn so we can load it without walking a half mile every time we load a flake of hay."

Sam got into the truck and Dean waited by the doors.

Sam backed it smoothly to the entrance, even though Dean had never seen him drive anything bigger than their Dad's truck. The elder Winchester lifted the latch and opened the gate to the 4-horse monstrosity. Like everything else in the stable, the trailer was new, large and fancy. He let his eyes adjust to the light and then took the large step up and grabbed the empty buckets off the hooks that held them off the ground just under the sliding windows for the horses to peer out of.

Sam fell into an easy rhythm with him, taking the buckets, filling them with water. They made a good team, Dean thought, when they weren't bickering. They understood how the other one worked physically, all the little tells in the body language, the way the other thought. It worked for hunting too. It made him a little nostalgic for their childhood together. Training with Dad, boyish adventures, chores together, their earliest hunts. Time with Bobby. He wondered if Sam ever remembered the good stuff or did he only see it as bad?

Sam arrived with a wheelbarrow of shavings that he dumped along the floor and stepped in to spread out with a muckrake. Dean finished hooking the full buckets back to the wall and started to fill the hay nets, which always annoyed him because he managed to spill more hay on his head as he hung them then seemed to be retained in the netting. _Fucking horses._

He staggered into another salt lick and cursed. Fucking things were everywhere. He pounded on the back of the trailer to give Sam the signal to slowly drive.

The truck started and they eased several feet ahead, Dean using the wall for balance as he rocked forward. They stopped gently a few feet away, the trailer primed and ready to head out on the morning.

Sam turned the ignition off and looked out into the dusk. It was getting dark so early it seemed. Movement caught his eye to their side. He turned the headlights on and saw it in the glow. A horse. But not any horse he recognized from the stables.

This was black and big, one ear half-mangled, its muzzle bloody and at an awkward angle. Sam could see the red of the meat underneath the massive chest muscle as it moved forward, silent, bearing its ghastly wounds with dignity. Its eyes flashed red in the headlights as it caught sight of Sam and it charged the trailer.

"Shit shit!" Sam started the ignition, but not before the horse slammed its body weight into the side of the trailer. There was the sound of metal being impacted and the trailer rocked to the side so hard that it almost took the truck with it.

* * *

Dean fixed the last hay net and stepped away when the entire ground beneath his feet lurched sideways and he staggered into the adjacent wall, barely catching himself with his hands outstretched. "Sonofabitch! Sam what the hell are you doing?"

The trailer lurched sideways again like it was being hammered into by a battering ram. He collided with the wall a second time and struggled to find his sea legs. He heard the ignition start and the trailer leapt forward fast enough so that Dean, confused by the change of direction, lost his balance and crashed face first into the shavings. The rumbling of the wheels as they peeled out over the unpaved driveway resounded through his ribs as he got to his hands and knees. "Sam!" He yelled. "I'm still back here!"

Of course the action was futile, there was no freaking way Sam could hear him through the walls and over the racket they were making.

Dean winced as they hit a pothole and his knees impacted the non-skid rubber mat below him. They were moving quickly, really quickly. The beige GMC truck peeled out of the driveway with the sound of skidding tires and Dean rolled sideways with the movement as they hit another rut and the water buckets lined against the wall sloshed up and over his back and head.

"Sam!" None to pleased with being soaked the second time today, Dean clambered up and pulled out his cell, still struggling to keep his balance and trying to steady his hand enough to press the correct number on the speed dial.

The unlatched gate flew open as they rounded the corner that signaled the end of the driveway and the beginning of the long semi-winding road into town. Dean scrambled away from the edge as the dizzying scene of pavement flying behind him at a rapid pace disoriented him. _Don't fall out. Don't fall out._ He hit speed dial. _Pick up. Pick up._

"Yeah."

"Sam, what the fuck are you doing?"

"We've got at problem here, Dean." Sam replied breathless and tight.

"Yeah, we're going like eighty miles an hour! Where are we going?"

"The horse! It's following us. It's trying to attack the trailer. Hang on, Dean!"

The trailer swerved again and Dean crashed into the bucket and reached out with his other hand to snag hold of a swaying hay net. He clung to it for dear life and was about to ask " _what horse?"_ when they passed it and Dean saw a huge black figure galloping after them.

"You still back there?" Sam asked.

Dean had a brief swell of annoyance. And what if he fucking wasn't? Was Sam planning on realizing that _after_ he'd been flung out of the vehicle traveling about 50 mph?

"Yes!" Dean yelled over the sound. The horse was right on their tail and gaining. And as it closed in, Dean saw the mangled face and raw bleeding muscle of its chest, laid open almost to the bone. Layers of raw meat. He swallowed.

"How fast do ghost horses run?" Sam asked.

" How the fuck would I know?" Dean watched the bloody muzzle, transfixed with the nostrils blown wide as the horse pulled impossibly closer in the dusky light.

Dean felt a bit of panic. "Seabiscuit is gaining on us. I think he's gonna crawl his ass up onto the back of this trailer!"

Sam sped up.

Impossibly, the fucking ghost sped up as well.

They hit a pothole that sent the trailer off the ground momentarily and launched Dean airborne. He lost the grip on the hay net and crashed to the bottom of the trailer, the cell skittering into the shavings out of his reach.

"Sorry!" He could hear Sam's voice yell through the speaker.

The trailer slowed fractionally as it followed a bend in the road and the horse plunged forward, taking advantage of the slight hesitation.

Dean scrambled up to his feet feet and bent to reach for the phone. They weaved to the other side and he found himself log rolling into the opposite wall. Okay, this was starting to piss him off. He reached for the phone and screamed into it. "Are you trying to kill me?"

* * *

"I can't keep this speed up much longer, Dean. We're coming to the t-section at the end of this road. There's no way I'm making that turn through the stop sign going 55. I'll roll the truck. What do I do?"

Sam dropped the cell and muscled the steering wheel through another bend in the road, desperately trying to stay on his side of the double line. He winced as he heard something crash around in the back of the trailer, hoped desperately it wasn't his brother, even as he knew that it had to be.

While Sam wrestled the truck around the turn his mind was going a hundred miles an hour, analyzing every possibility, every avenue they could turn down. Sam was unarmed, except for a pocket knife in his Carhartt that Dean was wearing that would be no good whatsoever against a fucking 1200 pound vengeful spirit. He heard his father's voice in his head: _Complacency will get you killed!_ Sam hated it when his father was correct about... _anything,_ really. Stanford had made him complacent. Not dealing with _this_ shit all the freaking time had made him complacent.

He was pretty sure that even if Dean had a weapon on him earlier, it was probably in his wet clothes back at the barn. The lunar cycle wasn't even correct for an attack. There goes the werehorse possibility, and if he weren't currently in a mad race to shake the thing behind them, he would have been happy to cross that fucking nightmare off his list of possible things that suck and may kill you.

The truck's headlights cut a path through the gathering darkness and he spared a glance in his rearview and couldn't even see the horse anymore, wondered if he'd crossed the boundary of where it could manifest, until he heard his brother's voice scream at him over the speaker phone on the cell tossed next to him on the seat. Simultaneously, he hit another pothole that rattled his teeth and almost made him collide his head with the interior roof. He heard Dean cry out in shock. His eyes cut to the phone, "Dean? Dean?" His heart hammered.

* * *

Dean had just regained his balance when the pothole sent him toppling forward to the edge of the yawning opening in the back of the trailer and horrifically close to the horse that now almost had its head in the opening, its good ear flattened to its head, its teeth bared and foaming like an equine Cujo.

His nails scrabbled for purchase and just as he found one, and lurched to his feet, the trailer swayed again and he started to fall out. Dean grabbed onto the open door just in time to avoid falling onto the rushing pavement, dangling with one foot on the lip of the trailer and the other hanging wildly over the abyss. He had his arms wrapped around the top of the door for dear life as it swung back and forth. The horse was close enough to fucking _breathe_ on him.

Dean yelled as its teeth snapped and it caught the pant leg of his jeans in its mouth. "Sammy! Sammy!" He cried out in a panic. Although the cry was less than coherent as he strained to keep his purchase on the door.

They accelerated again and there was the sound of a rip as the denim tore and Dean was flung with the door swinging wildly open, taking him completely with it before it reached the point where it's hinges could go no farther and it swung back closed, tossing him into the shavings again. He rolled with the momentum, struck the side, could feel the trailer slowing as they were more than likely coming to the turn Sam had asked about. He looked around wildly for the phone.

It was lying next to one of the pink mineral blocks under the mostly empty sloshing buckets. He reached for it just as they quickly decelerated and the horse got its front hooves into the trailer. They slammed down before his eyes with a metallic thud, black and shiny and slick with something that looked like blood.

Dean had never been so terrified in his life. Which was saying something considering the shit he and Sam encountered on a regular basis. But 1,200 pounds of fury was not something he was accustomed to. His hand groped for something, anything to defend himself with, his fingers closed around the salt lick and he hurled it with all his might, figuring he might at least slow the fucker down before it ate him.

The block hit the horse and it dissolved as the trailer skidded to a halt, sending Dean slidding on his ass through the sloppy muck. He looked in amazement as the pink block sailed through the empty air and imploded as it hit pavement. His mind couldn't understand why until he processed that he'd just hurled a giant block of salt at a ghost. Shakily, he staggered to his feet using the bucket for leverage.

* * *

Sam leapt out of the truck as fast as his long legs would carry him and darted around the back just as Dean half-jumped, half-fell off the trailer. His brother was absolutely plastered in shavings from his spiky hair to his boots. He was wet, his jeans were torn, and he was so pale his freckles stood out even in the dimness.

" _Sam_ ," he said weakly and Sam, reading the plea, rushed forward and caught his brother in his arms just as the other man's legs buckled. _"Whoa!_ I gotcha! I gotcha, Dean." Sam tightened his embrace around his brother's ribcage and shouldered his weight. "I gotcha... It's okay."

 **TBC.**

 **Reviews are like yummy, yummy carrots and oats. Thanks for them! I put them in my feed bucket and chow down and then kick my stall. I always want to respond to the Guest reviews but can't, however, please know I appreciate the feedback. :)**


	10. Chapter 10

Sam drove back to the barn at a reasonable pace. His voice was soft and sympathetic. "I'm so sorry I didn't know what else to do when it started attacking the trailer... throwing the salt lick at it was pretty ingenious, though, Dean."

Dean sighed, ran a hand over his face and shook some shavings off his hair. "I was desperate, I really just grabbed the first thing I could find to throw at it. It almost ate my freaking leg like 10 seconds before that."

Sam spared him a glance in the cabin's dim light. "You don't give yourself enough credit. You're really incredible sometimes."

Dean gave him a weary glance, disheveled in every way possible. He hunched into Sam's jacket. "I'm freezing."

Sam felt a surge of pure, unadulterated love course through him at that moment. He slapped Dean's thigh with affection. "I'll reset the trailer, kiddo, you go back to the double wide and shower and change."

"Yeah...gotta be nice and clean for my fucking rendezvous with Mrs. Freeford." Dean replied miserably. Sam laughed. God damn he loved his brother so much sometimes.

* * *

Dean had just gotten out of the shower when Sam returned. His hair was still damp, but he'd dressed himself in a black  
t- shirt and a clean pair of jeans. He was slipping one of his solid blue carhartt work shirts gingerly over his shoulders as Sam opened the door.

"Hey." Sam said casually. "I reset the trailer and tired to disguise the dent the horse left in the side best I could. The women must have left for the house because no one saw us peel out of the drive."

Dean looked at him tiredly. "Okay..." he sat down on one of the old, disgusting 70's armchairs.

"No sign of the spirit," Sam said. "Kinda weird though. That attack doesn't fit the pattern."

"So it's not the moon," Dean said. "Must be coincidental."

"Then what is triggering it? And why the ectoplasm in the horse's stall?"

"Too much thought for me right now, Sammy." Dean ran a hand through his hair.

" You feeling okay?" Sam asked almost gently.

"M fine." Dean dismissed the concern. "Just sore and dreading tonight."

"Just tell her you changed your mind."

"Oh yeah, that's easy to do. That won't hurt her feelings at all."

"You're worried about someone's feelings?" Sam asked, letting the sarcasm seep into his voice. "Holy crap, the wonders never cease."

Dean looked at him, obvious hurt plastered across his face.

Sam felt guilty. "I'm just joking, Dean."

"No, it's fine," his brother said. He moved to the fridge and grabbed a beer, using his ring to pop off the bottle cap. He took a swig. "I need a few of these before I go."

* * *

Dean was sweating by the time he knocked on the door of Jeanette's immaculate house. The freaking doorknocker probably cost more than the Impala, he thought bitterly. She didn't answer and after after a moment, Dean slowly pressed his thumb on the doorhandle. It was unlocked. He poked his head in. "Jeanette?"

Her voice floated to him from somewhere to his right. "Come in, Dean."

Dean stepped into the foyer. He boots sounded against the tile. He closed the door behind him. Hunter's instincts had him taking in the layout of the place before he proceeded any farther. He knew her voice had come from the first door way off of the kitchen. Glass french doors were thrown wide. He tentatively rounded the corner into a den. The fireplace was going, the light dimmed. His gaze fell upon the white couch, replete with Jeanette Freeford wrapped in a black silken negligee, her legs folded under her. She smiled and held a glass of wine out to him. "Come in, darling."

The fabric of her robe shrugged elegantly as she moved her arm.

Dean's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. He approached with a smile, trying his best to hide a limp from the collision with the trailer's floor earlier.

 _'It's alright, man._ He reassured himself. _You're Dean Fucking Winchester, you got this._ ' Since when was he scared of women? Dean took the glass from her outstretched hand and downed the wine in one gulp.

She widened her eyes and sat up a little. "That was a $100 glass of Penfold's Grange."

Dean looked at his empty wine glass. "Oh...Sorry."

He blinked. Perhaps downing several beers and then a full glass of wine on an empty stomach wasn't the brightest idea anyway. He was less nervous though.

He gave her a crooked smile.

She looked at him from under her lashes and patted next to her. "Come sit down, baby."

Dean sat, barely had his ass contacted the couch when her arms were around him, her body pressed against his chest. He recoiled, falling back against the edge of the cushions and taking her with him. "I haven't been able to think about anything but you all day," she whispered. "Your touch, your kiss."

If he wasn't so freaked out, he may have found that flattering. He gave another nervous smile and she pressed her lips to his. Dean cut off a muffled protest before he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her into a more comfortable position for him. She was leaning her weight on his shoulder and it hurt.

Jeanette pulled away and looked at him in concern. "What's wrong? You're trembling."

He gave a forced smile. "I'm nervous." He said. Half truths were always better lies than outright fabrications.

They locked eyes for a moment and her face fell into a brief show of utter heartbreak. "You don't want to do this."

"No. No!" he protested, picking up on her emotional fragility. Something about it made him feel protective towards her. He ran a hand through her red hair. "I...it's not that," he searched her eyes for a second. "I'm in a bad place right now," he told her.

She started to pull herself off of him, her eyes seemed glassy.

Free of her weight, Dean sat up. He winced at the effort, put his head in his hands. His amulet slipped forward at his movement, hanging and swinging hypnotically.

Jeanette's face turned sympathetic as she shifted her focus from her own jilted feelings to Dean's obvious distress. "What's wrong?"

He looked at her, all green eyes and long lashes. He could feel the alcohol affecting his judgment, even though it was a relatively small amount for him. "My dad's missing."

"Missing?" Jeanette asked.

"Yeah, he up and disappeared on me. I haven't heard from him in months." Dean felt a wave of misery course through him. "And Sammy. Sammy's not so good."

"What's wrong with Sam?"

"He's..." Dean bit his lower lip, feeling a bit emotional. "He lost his girlfriend a few months ago in a fire."

"Oh my God, that's awful!"

"We lost my mom in a fire when we were kids and..." he swallowed. "It kinda brought it back up. With Dad gone, I just, I don't know how to deal with some of this stuff, ya know? Like I'm supposed to be the big brother an' have all the answers, but I don't sometimes."

Jeanette's hand was suddenly rubbing a gentle circle between his shoulder blades. "I'm so sorry, Dean."

He bowed his head. " 'N so I'm having a bad day. I'm sorry I came on to you earlier and now I'm here and..." he took a deep breath, deciding to let his nerves show. "Now I'm just...having some performance anxiety, I think." He finished the sentence with a tentative smile.

"Darling," Jeanette planted a kiss on his temple and Dean looked at her, shocked by the tenderness of the gesture. She reached up and cupped his jaw with one hand.

Dean felt himself start to tear up. Oh my god, what the fuck? Was he buying his own line of bullshit? He wasn't that drunk. Enough to be a little more loquacious than usual, sure, but...he looked at her sympathetic eyes again and rubbed a hand over his face, cleared his throat, looked away. It felt freeing to dump at least some of this shit on someone.

"I'm worried about S'mmy...and Dad... I know he's alive out there. I think he is. I just don't know why he can't answer his fucking phone, you know?" Dean thought of how close to death he'd been. How Dad didn't answer. Didn't call back. Was a text too much to send? -Just an _l'm okay, boys._ "God, why can't he just pick up? Why did he just take off on me like that? I've been the best son I know how to be."

She was very close to him, her hand moving to the juncture of his collarbone. Her thumb ran along the smooth skin just under the collar of his t-shirt. "It's not your fault, baby. That's so much to carry."

He felt his lower lip tremble. He had to do something or he was going to end up bawling in front of her.

Dean looked at her momentarily, feeling a wave of something odd. Damn, this was the most confusing sexual situation he'd ever been in and he'd been in some weird ones. She'd been beautiful once, he was sure of it, but she was more than twice his age. Older than his fucking father. And suddenly he wanted her close. Not to be inside her but to feel her hands on him, soothing, reassuring. What the hell was going on with him? He had to shut off his brain.

His arms were suddenly around her of their own accord, and his lips secured to hers in a hungry kiss. He parted her mouth with his tongue, his body drunk enough to respond but not so drunk that he couldn't.

He tipped her over backwards, pinning her with his weight. She went down willingly. She wanted him so badly. He could sense it. It was kind of a heady feeling. She knew how to kiss. Was damn good at it, actually.

He shifted his weight onto his shoulder and winced, pulling away.

They were both panting. "What's wrong? " She asked.

"My shoulder," he said. "Slipped earlier, took a tumble, got all bruised up."

Her hands moved to his shoulders, rubbing firmly.

"Oh, God." He mumbled, sliding off of her and dropping his head against a couch cushion. "So good."

She slipped Dean's button down off of his broad shoulders and wordlessly pulled his t-shirt off over his head. He let her undress him, limbs heavy with fatigue and alcohol.

"Just let me do this for you." She said softly. "You don't have to do anything back, just let me help."

She slid to the bearskin rug in front of the fire and pulled him down with her. He landed almost sloppily on his stomach, moaned at the fucking delicious sensation of the fur against his bare chest and belly.

She straddled him and started to knead her hands into his tight muscles. Dean groaned and cried out as she hit a knot. She leaned forward to speak in his ear. "Relax, baby."

"Oh my God, Jeanette." She hit a sore spot under his shoulder blades. "Oh God, that's good." His voice was husky and a little slurred. "Don't stop."

* * *

Sam crept around to the edge of the house, flashlight in hand barely able to see. He'd used Dean's distraction to go up into Freeford's office and finish the aborted search attempt. He zeroed in on the horseshoe paperweight in her desk drawer almost immediately, got a hit off the EMF meter and realization dawned.

He'd finished his search, gone down to the house and planned on knocking on the door to interrupt whatever was going on and save his brother like they'd planned. He was eager to share his discovery. Hoped he'd gotten poor Dean out of there in time.

He approached the house in the darkness from the side. There was the flicker of firelight in the one room and a partially open window to let in the cool October breeze. He could hear voices. He crept a little closer.

His ears easily picked up Dean's gruff tenor. A whimper. A moan. "Jeanette, oh god... So good. Don't stop... don't stop... Please."

Sam froze. _What the fuck?_ Disappointment washed through him. _Really Dean? You were terrified of fucking her about a 45 minutes ago and now you're going at it with this much...gusto?_ Damn, his brother was vocal. He was either putting on the best performance ever or he was really into it. Another half stifled cry. _Jesus, were older women really this good?_

Sam felt his stomach turn at the thought. Not like he hadn't already had the fucking brain melting experience of returning home from school on early dismissal one day, only to surprise his brother and a girl on the couch of their rental. He couldn't imagine anything worse except maybe catching Dad doing the same.

This was quite possibly worse. Even without the visual.

He didn't remember Dean being this fucking loud.

"Oh God! Deeper, please. Harder."

Sam swallowed convulsively. No. This was fucking worse. _Wait... Deeper. Harder? Shouldn't SHE be the one saying that to him?_ Okay. Now he was going to throw up.

Sam jogged to the safety of the trailer and hopefully a few beers in the refrigerator to help him forget what he just fucking heard. He had to suppress a retch along the way.

* * *

Dean could feel his back letting go of the tension slowly, but surely, as Jeanette worked away his knots. He couldn't even suppress how fucking good it felt. It hurt like hell too. She had to keep coaxing him to relax and breathe as she dug in with her elbow.

At one point, he begged her to stop and then to keep going. Partway through, he had tears streaming down his face.

She worked him over from his neck, down his lower back, a little on his glutes and the backs of his thighs. Then she started on his neck again and gently stroked his back with feather light touches as she settled next to him on the rug. She kissed his temple and he melted into her, exhausted.

"Just hold me," she whispered.

He put an arm around her and drifted to sleep.

* * *

Sam had been doing chores for about an hour by himself the next morning when Dean sauntered into the stable looking disheveled and sinfully relaxed. He gave a half-smile, eyes sleepy. "Hey S'mmy."

Sam flushed and looked away. "I see you had a better night than you anticipated. Never even came back home."

Dean scratched his head. "What's wrong? Afraid of the dark?"

"No." Sam said, avoiding his gaze.

Dean's brow furrowed. "Dude, I got tired and fell asleep. Sue me."

"Yeah, I guess you would be tired after that."

"Ummm. After what? Sam, why are you acting like a jilted prom date? I'm sorry I didn't come back. Woman has magic fingers."

Sam winced. "Yeah, so I heard."

"Wait, you heard?!" Dean's face flushed, thinking of his conversation with Jeanette last night.

He felt awkward, violated that his brother might hear him like that, crying like a little bitch over John Freaking Winchester not answering a few phone calls. "Were you fucking _spying_ on me? Seriously, little brother?"

"I wasn't _spying,_ Dean! I came over to rescue you from what I _thought_ you didn't want to do, but I guess I overestimated your self-respect and sense of constraint, as usual."

Dean was getting pissed. Confused and pissed. _"Excuse me_ , bitch?"

Sam backed off. "Look I'm not judging." He looked at his brother. "Okay maybe I am a little bit."

Dean paused, his ire rising. Sam overhearing their conversation. Judging him for slipping up when he was carrying so much weight around? So much shit that his brother didn't even _know._ Trying to keep _himself_ together and his fucking _father_ together and now fucking _Sam_ together and he wasn't allowed to _talk_ to someone about it. _Really?_

He thought Sam was all into openness and feelings. "Were you fucking _listening_ to us?"

"I wasn't trying to but you had the window open and you were so goddamn LOUD, I almost couldn't avoid it. Believe me I didn't want to hear that shit come out of your mouth any more than you wanted me to hear it, Dude." Sam gave a shiver.

Dean's annoyance turned to hurt. "I thought you of all people wouldn't judge me on a moment of weakness. ...You think you know a guy."

Sam thought of his brother's voice groaning _harder_ and _deeper._ "Yeah, agreed there."

Dean picked up a shovel and started to pick angrily at an empty stall. Tears were standing in his eyes. _Oh my god! Really?_ Did he have his fucking period or what? _Holy shit._ He needed to shoot something and eat red meat and punch his brother before he started growing boobs. Maybe he could find that cute blonde from yesterday and relieve some stress. He hadn't been stressed until he talked to Sam. _God, they were bad for each other sometimes._

As a matter of fact, he felt pretty fucking good until like ten minutes ago. Waking up to someone kissing his forehead and petting him and making him breakfast had done a world of good. _Oh my god._ He was a girl. Is that really what he wanted? It made him happy to have a cry and cuddle all night?

Sam was hovering near the stall looking at his face.

"Bitch, _what?_ " Dean snapped.

"I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

"You didn't hurt my feelings," Dean protested, even as his feelings were hurt.

"Yes I did. "

 _Fuck Sam and his perceptions._ "Dude, I'm fine."

"You're my brother and I..."

"Shut up! We aren't doing this _Steel Magnolias_ bullshit right now."

Sam's mouth closed and he stood there, his mop of hair over his forehead and his eyes looking like a scolded golden retriever. "Sorry," he said.

Dean went back to shoveling.

There was a long pause and then, as if he couldn't help himself, Sam asked. "Was she really that good? Like, are older women that spectacular at it?"

Dean furrowed his brow. "What?"

Sam looked away. "I've just never heard you be so...it sounded like she was blowing your mind."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Something clicked. "You mean the massage?"

"If that's what you want to call it."

"What else would I call it? You prefer back rub?"

Sam looked five shades of confused.

"Sam," Dean asked suspiciously. "What do you _think_ I'm talking about?" He laughed, relief washing through him. "You thought we were having sex, didn't you?" He let out a guffaw.

"Well, what _were_ you doing?"

"She gave me a glass of wine and a back rub, which was fucking awesome and then I passed out on the floor."

"Oh Jesus! I've never been so relieved in my life. Hearing you moan harder and deeper is something I never want to experience again."

Dean laughed so hard, the tears that had been standing in his eyes reappeared and fell freely for once.

 **Reviews! Feed me reviews! I'm hoping I'm amusing more than just myself here. :)**


	11. Chapter 11

When Dean had gotten over his paroxysmal laughing fit, Sam gave him the run down on what he'd discovered. "The horseshoe in the drawer, Dean. It was spiking the EMF meter like crazy. Did either of you happen to move anything in that drawer before the horse appeared?"

"Yeah," Dean said. "I did."

"I figured. Okay, this makes sense now. So it's not the lunar cycle at all. It's happening monthly because she's going in that drawer to pay her bills due around that time and disturbs the horse shoe."

"So it's as easy as melting down that horse shoe."

"I'm not so sure," Sam replied. "I mean, a horse has four of those things, right? Maybe we need to get rid of all four?"

"Oh great. Those could be anywhere." Dean frowned, his good mood suddenly gone. "So basically we have the vengeful spirit of a horse that was...what? Abused? Tortured? I mean the thing did not look in good shape."

"I don't think I got as close to it as you did."

"Yeah, I got up close and personal with it. It looked like it escaped from _Animal Cops: Houston._ "

Sam winced. "Poor thing."

"Dude, poor thing tried to eat my leg off."

"Well it didn't deserve whatever it got in life. It's reacting like it is now because it's wounded and scared. Trapped. That's what animals do."

"Yeah, well I'm having a hard time having sympathy for it." Dean eyed Jeanette as she walked in.

She smiled fondly and gave him a wink. He smiled back.

Sam jerked his chin in her direction. "I think you have a new fan."

"Dude, if she keeps giving me massages like the other night, _she's_ got a new fan. I mean that was a _good_ massage." Dean unrolled the hose and started to fill water buckets. "Well, a lot of them will be gone soon to the riding clinic we packed the trailer for and after we're done watering we don't really need to be anywhere until our nightshift. I'm getting pretty tired of bouncing around between day and evening help."

"I hear you. I want a nap." Sam had hardly slept at all last night - for obvious reasons. "Is Jeanette going to the clinic?"

"Yeah."

"So you could've like waited until today to break in to the office and not run any risk of getting caught."

Dean colored. "But then I wouldn't have gotten the best massage of my life. See, Sammy?" He slapped his back. "It all works out for the best in the end no matter what's thrown at you. Right?"

Sam ducked his head. "Tell that to Jessica."

Dean frowned. "Dude, why do you have to do that?"

"Sorry," Sam whispered.

"I don't even believe my own line of crap and I try to be optimistic for once and you gotta shit on it."

"Sorry." Sam said again.

Dean touched his brother's arm. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Sam ran a hand over his face. "I am. I'm just tired and ..." _missing Stanford_ he left unspoken. "Tired," he said again.

Dean nodded. "Okay. Let's get done here and go get you a nap, okay, big guy?"

* * *

Dean watched Sam's chest rise and fall softly as he napped, his legs curled up so that they didn't hang over the cramped mattress. He was on his side, his face softened into something resembling peaceful. Dean took a swig of beer and stretched his leg out before him, trying to pop his knee into joint. He saw Sam wince and an expression of discomfort cross his features. -A hitch in the breathing, a furrow of his brow that foretold a nightmare.

Dean sighed. _Poor Sam_. He slept so badly anymore.

Sam whimpered and Dean leaned forward, debating whether to wake him up. The kid's leg jerked a little and Dean placed his hand gently around his calf. "Shhh, S'mmy. S'okay little brother."

Sam stirred. Groggily opened his eyes. "Dean?"

"Yeah buddy, just a nightmare. Go back to sleep, huh?" He patted his calf.

"Mmm." Sam hummed, rolling over onto his back and closing his eyes again.

Dean knew by his breathing that he was just this side of wakeful and wouldn't be falling back asleep. Sure enough, Sam put his arm across his face and took a deep breath. "How long was I out?" He slurred lazily.

"Not long enough. You're safe. Sleep a little longer maybe, huh?"

"No. I'm good." He sat up, looking disheveled and swung his legs over the bed.

Dean took another pull of his beer. "Bad dream?"

"Yeah."

"About Jessica?"

Sam grew quiet for a moment and then smirked. "No. I think it was about you moaning 'harder and deeper.'"

Dean laughed and choked on his beer. "I'm not living that down anytime soon am I?"

"Why is that even a question? Of course not." Sam stood up, rubbing the grit out of his eyes and stretched until something in his lower back cracked and he sighed.

"So what do we do about the horse shoes?" Dean set his empty beer on the shitty shag carpet floor.

Sam shrugged. "Fish around and locate the others and then salt and burn? Although...iron isn't going to be so easy to burn. We probably need a furnace or something."

"How are we gonna find them? They could be anywhere." Dean frowned. That sounded like a pain in the ass.

Sam shrugged. "Ask the girls about their whereabouts I guess? Maybe they've seen more. It's kinda the needle in the haystack situation."

"What if we found the remains and salt and burned those?"

"I doubt if that horse had a proper burial and it's not gonna help if it's anchored to those shoes."

"Wait..."Dean paused. "Iron repels ghosts."

"Yeah," Sam countered, "but it also holds onto vibrations better than any other substance. A psychic can pick up feedback on metals pretty readily."

"Really? Well that's fucking lovely." Dean stood up and finally managed to pop his knee. "Oh, that's better."

Sam winced. "That's gonna bug you when you're older."

"Pity," Dean shrugged. "Bugs me now."

"I wish you'd take care of yourself a little."

"Sam, I'm dyin' bloody and spent at 35, I'm not losing much sleep over my old age retirement plans." Dean said breezily.

Sam frowned. "That's not funny."

"Do I look like I'm joking?" Dean caught his eye. "Oh come on, Dude. I'm a hunter. What's my life expectancy?"

"Bobby and Dad and Pastor Jim have been doing this job for decades, Dean. If you go in smart, it doesn't have to be that way."

"I've never been really smart."

"Shut up. You're plenty smart when you put effort into something. You know that."

"Look, I'm not worrying about it and neither should you." Dean rubbed at a bruise forming on his arm. " _Carpe Diem_ , man."

"We have to worry about each other." Sam said kindly. "Kinda goes with the job description, you know?"

"So you worried about me those whole two years you didn't talk to me, huh?" Dean snapped. "Good to know."

Sam couldn't hide the affront. Sometimes he felt like Dean was a feral dog that was just as apt to bite him as lick him. His father had made him feel the same way. "You could have called me, Dean."

"Yeah, I knew you'd _love_ to introduce me to all your Stanford buddies. Chomping on the bit for that one." Dean rolled his eyes.

"I would have if you'd just shown up. Or given me a fricken call. It's not like I betrayed you. I went to college!" Sam tilted his head, longing to be understood. "That's all I did. I would've loved to have some contact with my roots but you and Dad booted me out on my ass."

"I didn't boot you anywhere. Your relationship with Dad is your business. But you didn't have to throw me into the mix."

Sam felt his frustration surface. "You took his side. You always take his side."

"That's because you were wrong. Not because you left but because some of the choice words you said to him. Dad was doing his best for us. He always tried to do his best for us." Now Dean's defense mode was on like it always was when they spoke of their father.

"Stop holding college against me, like I did something wrong! Jesus Christ, you broke into my apartment in the middle of the night after no word for two years and I was happy to see you, Dean!"

Dean looked at him. "Yeah, yeah I'm _sure_ you were."

"I was!" Sam protested.

"First thing I did was try to mack on your girl."

"You think that bothered me? I _expect_ that of you. And Jess wasn't a slut! She was in a long term relationship with _me._.. She wasn't gonna turn around and jump your bones because you hit on her. _Everyone_ hit on her."

"Now that I believe. First sensible thing you've said all day."

"At the end of the day she came home with me no matter who approached her." Sam turned away, his throat working. "You drive me crazy! Why does everything have to turn into an argument?"

"You're the one arguing, Sammy." Dean said patiently.

Sam walked over to the sink and leaned heavily on the counter, bowing his back. The curve of his shoulders taut.

Dean raised an eyebrow. "What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing's wrong with me," Sam snapped. He turned around, snatched up his jacket and headed across the lawn to the stable.

Dean shook his head. _Between horseshit and Sammy..._

He flopped down on the mattress his brother had vacated and laced his hands behind his head. He could use a little down time before he strangled the kid.

* * *

Sam stumbled into the barn, still breathing heavily, blinking back tears that wanted to fall for NO fucking reason. He couldn't get Dean to forgive him for for going to college. They'd stopped speaking for a few years. Sam wasn't quite sure how that had even happened. One day rolled into another and eventually...it just seemed awkward to call. But of course he'd worried about Dean during that time. _Of course he had._

He was so tired of his brother hanging Stanford over his head like he'd done something horrible. So tired of feeling like shit for it.

"Hey Sam," Leslie approached him from the tack room. She took a look at his posture and set her saddle down on the rack near Handsome Stranger's stall.

Sam instinctively cheated his face away from her for a moment. _No. Not now_. He wasn't sure how well he could put up a facade. He wasn't feeling at all able to cope with anything at the moment.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Her expression was one of genuine concern.

Sam swallowed. Forced himself to look at her. "Nothing, just...nothing."

She put her had on her hips. "Wow. That was convincing."

He grinned sheepishly. "My amazingly cool James Bond exterior is see through, huh?"

She laughed. "Totally."

She twined her fingers into the canvas of his brown canvas carhartt jacket and dragged him along the side of the barn, way back to an adjoining room filled with stacks of hay. Bewildered, Sam followed like an overgrown child.

"Sit." She gestured to a bale.

He hesitated.

"Go on."

He did, dropped his head, and picked at the hay between his thighs as he sat there.

"What's wrong?" She asked. After he didn't respond, she gave a verbal nudge. "Come on, this is our secret area." She flopped onto one of the bales next to him and folded her legs under her. "This was the confessional spot for all us girls. Our little private place to air our grievances and let each other know which boy got to what base."

Sam smirked, eyes still fixated on the hay. He pulled apart one of the stems and watched it turn to chaff. "So I look like one of the girls?"

Leslie grinned. "No. Come on. Tell me."

He kept turning the brittle stems over in his fingers like they held some fascination for him.

She moved closer. "You're one of the quiet ones, huh? "

"Yeah, well..." he said lapsing into silence.

She put her hand on his shoulder and he looked up.

"Was this an elaborate ruse to get me back here with you?" He said with some amusement.

She leaned forward and kissed him tenderly on the lips, then pulled away. "Do you want it to be?"

Sam paused. He'd never been like his brother. Had never conflated sex with intimacy.

"I'm in a vulnerable place right now." Sam said earnestly. "My life is sort of upside down."

Leslie backed off and flopped herself against one of the myriad bales. She was adorably playful, something quite youthful about her attitude. She crossed her long legs, swinging one back and forth. "This sounds like the beginning of one of our confessionals. Go ahead...spill."

"I'm not really the spilling type." Sam said in his soft tenor.

"Give it a try."

He chuckled. "Well, my brother is being a dick right now but that's not new..." He paused, weighing how much he wanted to reveal about himself. It was always a weird dance, giving snippets of his worries but not the whole thing. He always wondered what it would be like to have a normal life and just be able to say what he was thinking. "I'm having some trouble working here. More than I thought I would, actually."

That piqued her interest. "Why?"

"Someone I knew rode horses. It's reminding me of her."

"Girlfriend?"

He shrugged. "Not really. Maybe."

"Liked her, huh?"

"Kinda, yeah." He blushed a little. "Yeah."

"The plot thickens! What happened?"

He shrugged. "I'm not sure I was what she was looking for, you know?"

"No." Leslie's eyes traced him up and down. "I'm not sure how you're not what _everyone_ is looking for."

Sam flushed. "It worked out for the best though because then after her I met someone truly wonderful. And she rode horses too."

"Why aren't you with her now?"

Sam looked away, throat tight. "She died."

"Awww, Sam. I'm sorry."

"Yeah. Me too." He flopped back against against a bale. He needed a change of subject, hoped she'd let him. "This is like a fun hay fort."

"I know, right? We used to climb to the top and like dive off."

"Hey Leslie... I've noticed some antique horse shoes around here. Like I was up in Jeanette's office and she has one... they're really cool. Do you know where she got them?"

"The property is really old. Used to be a horse trader's place or something? There's antique bits of things that kinda turn up here and there."

"This barn is new though, right?"

"Yeah. I used to ride at the place down the road before they built on this property. Back here used to be just the trailer and some of the hay lofts like this one. We'd hike out here or take the horses through the woods to get out here. It was a lot of fun. We even came across old horse bones in the back of the property. They're down in the woods by the dried up creek. They dammed it up and like all the sudden you could see all the bones back there. It's really creepy."

"Can you show me them?"

"Ewww. Morbid. But sure. They are pretty neat." Leslie traced a figure eight in the air with her ankle before she shifted on the bale. "I think Carly might have found one of the old horse shoes back there and given it to Jeanette before she died. There's old tack back there and everything. It's like they used to slaughter horses and dump them in the creek or something. Or maybe that's just where they dragged the old school horses after they died. Who knows."

"We did such horrible things to animals back then." Sam said soberly. "It's unthinkable really."

"We still do." Leslie countered. "Look at the way cows are treated."

Sam thought of Dean's penchant for burgers. He nodded. "True." He pulled his legs up on his hay bale with him and nestled in. He gestured for Leslie to come fill the gap under his arm and she slid over and snuggled into his chest. He smiled. Felt nice to have a woman pressed up against him. He leaned down and smelled her hair. It smelled like apple shampoo and horse. She twined her tiny hand in his and Sam relaxed a little, feeling safe for the first time since he'd left Stanford.


	12. Chapter 12

Sam opened his eyes slowly and blinked. He felt a bit disoriented for a minute. This was not a motel room. He was cradled by the firm/soft prickly sensation of hay. He groaned and pulled himself up. He had been lying on his side, half supported by some hay bales behind him, nestled into a little alcove created in the stacks like a nesting mouse. As he moved his arms, he realized that he was covered by something warm and heavy. A horse blanket slid off of him.

He blinked lazily, still comfortable and loathe to move. Leslie was gone, she must have been the one to cover him. Goddamn, he couldn't believe he'd been tired enough to pass out cuddling and then not notice her moving about and tucking him in like Dad would've done when he was 5.

He remembered playfully tucking Jess in when she was exhausted after a few all night studying sprees. A smile crept to his lips. She'd been so sweet with her wavy blonde hair spread out on her pillow like a halo. He'd brushed her nose with his and pressed a kiss to her forehead. _Oh God._ The thought made him want to cry. He closed his eyes against a wave of pain, curling in on himself. Where was he? What was he doing? Had his life really taken this turn?

He took a few deep breaths to steady himself, heard someone calling his name. _Dean?_

"I'm in here!" He answered, trying to kick off the blanket and find purchase to pull himself to his feet.

Dean jogged around the corner looking frantic and paused.

"What?" Sam asked, his heart pounding, kicking at the hay, pulling a stack down on top of his head. It bounced off his shoulder and Sam woofed as it hit him. "Holy shit, that's heavy." He looked up. "Dean, what's wrong? Did you see another ghost?"

"No dipshit! You've been missing for hours! I thought you were dead or something!" Dean's relief at finding Sam unharmed quickly turned to anger at finding Sam unharmed. "I looked all over the fucking grounds! I've been texting and calling constantly."

"Huh?" Sam pulled out his cell and flipped it open. No reception. He held it up sheepishly. "There's no bars in here. I must not have gotten them."

"Seriously, Sam?" Dean cocked an eyebrow. "So you, like, _ran_ out of the house like a melodramatic teenage girl and you went in here and fell asleep? I'm sure there's some Sam logic in here."

"Leslie took me in here." Sam said, finally managing to get up.

"Leslie?" Dean's expression shifted. "Well you should have said so, my man! How was the roll in the hay, huh? Fun?"

"No! I didn't sleep with her, Dean." He paused. "Actually, technically, I fell asleep with her so I did sleep with her but not in the way you're thinking." Sam brushed some hay out of his mop of brown hair. It floated to the floor.

"Wait," Dean's lip turned up into a disgusted curl. "So you're telling me you took little Miss Beauty Queen with the 'fuck me now, Sam' sign tattooed on her forehead back here and you...what?"

"Cuddled with her?" Sam said almost apologetically.

"You cuddled with her? After a hot make out session, I hope."

Sam felt like he were failing a final exam. "After we talked about horse skeletons and Jessica."

"You didn't kiss her? Sam, she's ready to crawl down your throat and you passed that up?" He threw up his hands in disgust.

"Wait so let me get this right. You're fine with me disappearing for..." he furrowed his brow confused. "How long have I been out?"

"Four hours."

Sam's eyebrows shot up in shock. "Four hours?!"

"I guess that happens when you don't sleep for weeks, genius."

Sam regained himself. "So me disappearing for four hours was okay when you thought I was getting laid but unacceptable if I was just getting some apparently _desperately_ needed sleep?"

"Yes!" Dean said, angry again. "I thought you were like dead or something, and then I found you back here and thought maybe you screwed yourself into a coma...I was PROUD of you, Sam. But you had to dash that to pieces, didn't you?"

"Oh my God, you're so fucking weird, Dean!"

"I'm weird? Says the guy that just had the twenty year old chick in the hayloft and didn't even cop a feel."

"You don't know that I didn't cop a feel."

"Did you?" Dean asked, suddenly interested.

"No." Sam admitted.

He shook his head. "Done... I'm done. You're no brother of mine."

* * *

"So why do we think the horse is targeting certain people?" Dean asked.

"I don't know. It went after you after you disturbed the horse shoe...but it hasn't gone after Jeanette when she moves it.  
And how did it get into Handsome Stranger's stall? I mean something left that ectoplasm." Sam's brow furrowed as he got kicked off the Internet again. "The signal here sucks. I need to get back out to the library if I'm going to get any research done at all."

There was a knock on the door and they both jumped. Dean shot his brother a look, automatically reaching for the gun shoved in his waistband of his jeans. "You expecting anyone?"

"No. You?"

Dean shook his head and tucked his gun away. He answered the door and his eyes widened in surprise.

Leslie and Chelsea were side by side, dressed in tight jeans and well-fitting plaid shirts. Leslie had a 6 pack of beer and a wicked smile.

"Hey, we figured you boys should have a campfire with us when it starts to get dark..." Chelsea bit her lip and looked up at Dean. "I brought marshmallows. We can toast some, huh?" She held up an unopened bag.

Sam stood up. "Dean, what's going on?"

"There is a God, Sammy. He just sent a few angels to the door."

* * *

Leslie and Chelsea were lightweights when it came to drinking. Of course, considering that neither of them could have been more than 120 pounds soaking wet, that shouldn't have come as much of a surprise.

"Are you even old enough to have bought this?" Sam asked Leslie as he opened a beer against the counter top and handed it to her.

"According to my fake ID, yes."

Sam laughed. "Great."

Dean looked at him. "Oh you should judge, little brother."

"Oh Sam..." Leslie's little nose was pink along with her cheeks. "Naughtier than you look, huh?" She took a pull of beer. "Dean, tell me a naughty story about your brother." She said, her eyes tracing Sam.

Dean laughed. "I have precious little. He really is as boring as he seems."

Sam huffed.

Dean's lips curved into a smirk. "I seem to remember somebody getting into Dad's whiskey the night before a big midterm."

Sam's mouth went taut.

The girls laughed teasingly. "And..."

Dean paused, gestured with his bottle and flopped into the armchair. "I remember something about how we should have a puppy and he was pretty insistent that his name should have been Mark. And that his AP Calculus teacher was a Nazi."

"I never said that!" Sam said indignantly.

"Dude, you were wasted. You don't know what you said."

Sam flushed. "That teacher did suck though."

"Then he spent the entire night throwing up." Dean's eyes lit up at the memory. "I tried to cover for him by telling Dad he had the stomach flu."

"Oh God." Sam groaned. "The next day was so horrible. I dragged myself to school and finished the test and then went and dry heaved in the bathroom for like 20 minutes. And they only had those little squares of like tissue paper in the stalls so I was trying to wipe my mouth with those things. I never did that again."

Leslie broke into giggles at his misery. "How did you do on the exam?"

"For me? Pretty badly. I think I got like an 89."

"Oh yeah, that's SO terrible." Leslie responded. "I'd have been thrilled to have an 89."

"Hey," Chelsea sat on Dean's knee. His eyebrows went up in surprise, and then his arms settled around her, pleased with her warm weight. "We should start that fire soon."

"Hmmmm." He hummed pulling her all the way into his lap. "We should," he said into her ear. She giggled and leaned her head backwards onto his chest. Oh man. He so had her for tonight. It was almost too easy.

* * *

The bonfire was huge and neatly contained. Dean having adjusted for every shift of the wind, piled the wood on in the most strategic pattern for the maximum flame. Chelsea looked at Sam. "It's almost like he sets fires for a living."

Sam smirked from his spot on the lawn chair they'd found. "You have no idea."

She turned her eyes back to watch Dean's rear end as he bent over the logs, throwing a few more pieces of wood on.

Leslie was most assuredly tipsy. She sat herself in the grass beside Sam's leg and leaned back against his shin. She toyed with the fabric of his pant leg and Sam looked down at her with ill-concealed amusement. "You ever ride?" She asked. "Having dated equestriennes. We love to get our boys on a horse."

Dean perked up his interest at the question but pretended to be busy with the fire.

"No. I helped brush and gave some carrots. I'm not dumb enough to get on a horse."

"You're so good with them though. So firm and gentle."

Dean sniggered. "I'd get on one. Bet I could do as well as either of you girls."

The girls burst into laughter. "Oh my god," Chelsea replied. "We are so putting you on Prince Alpert tonight."

"Uh, Dean...I'm not so sure that's a great idea."

Dean was drunk. Of course it was a good idea.

Dean took another swig of his beer and grinned. "I tell you what. How about we saddle up and go into the woods and you show us those horse bones, huh?"

"At night?" Leslie asked.

"You afraid of the dark?" He teased as Chelsea snuggled up to his warmth in the chill autumn air.

Sam was sober enough to be fairly certain that four drunks, a couple horses, pitch blackness and some haunted woods was not going to end well. Someone was going to break something. He put money on Dean.

 **Welp. Someone is going to fall on their fine ass next chapter... :) Stay tuned. Review? I beg thee.**


	13. Chapter 13

_Opportunity was knocking. Dean took another swig of his beer and grinned. "I tell you what... How about we saddle up and go into the woods and you show us those horse bones, huh?"_

 _"At night?" Leslie asked._

 _You afraid of the dark? He teased as Chelsea sat in his lap and snuggled up to his warmth in the chill autumn air._

 _Sam was sober enough to be fairly certain that 4 drunks, a couple horses, pitch blackness and some haunted woods was not going to end well. Someone was going to break something. He put money on Dean._

* * *

Dean put a foot in the stirrup and grabbed a bit of mane. The stirrup leather twisted under his knee as he swung up on Alpert and he immediately almost went over the other side. He caught his balance, smiled kind of sloppily at Chelsea.

Sam was having trouble judging just how drunk Dean Winchester actually was. It wasn't like Dean wasn't known to play up on his inebriation when he was hustling pool. Sam wasn't sure if his brother had an angle he was playing with the girls or if he was, in fact, three sheets to the wind.

Alpert moved ahead and Dean adjusted to the stride and sat up taller as Chelsea giggled and tried to fill him in on riding cues. -The first being how to actually hold the reins correctly.

Sam watched with a furrowed brow.

"Come on," Leslie said beside him, holding Handsome Stranger's reins. "Just try a minute."

"No. I'm the designated driver for tonight, okay? I'll walk on foot."

"It's a steep hike."

"I'm in shape," Sam said.

"Come on, Sam- _may_!" Dean bellowed a bit too loudly. Alpert bobbed his head in surprise. "Live a little, man!"

"I want to live, that's why I'm not getting on." Sam insisted.

Chelsea swung up after Leslie on Stranger.

"It's okay," Leslie said. "He can walk and be our man servant. It's kinda sexy."

"I'm kinda sexy," Dean said from his spot atop Alpert. The gelding's mostly white coat glowed dimly in the fading twilight.

"No, Dean you are a dumb ass and you make poor life choices," Sam admonished.

Although he had to admit that his brother looked at ease on the horse, probably since he was inebriated. Dean always loosened up when he was a bit buzzed.

"Ah. Whatever." He waved Sam off and rather roughly hauled Alpert's head around to turn him. Sam was starting to think that Dean wasn't playing up the drunken act.

Sam winced. "Don't pull his mouth off, Dude."

"Leg sexy." Chelsea coached, holding onto Leslie's torso. "Use your leg to move him."

"Oh, right." Dean replied, moving the gelding's shoulder over with a bit of leg pressure on his side. Dean tensed a little to keep with the sudden sideways movement.

The girls pulled ahead and Dean's horse fell in step behind.

Sam sighed and followed. He'd packed the flashlight, salt, a lighter, some fluid and really wished he'd packed a med kit because the end of this story was rather predictable.

* * *

The horses' feet crunched their way through the dead leaves littering the trail. Maple and oak fell in showers at every breath of wind. Sam thought it was almost creepy to feel them brush his face when it was was a little too dim to see.

Dean kept one hand on the pommel of the saddle and the other on the reins. Thus far, he'd had not too hard a time following Alpert's movements. Each step rocked his hips a little side to side, but the rhythmic gait was almost soothing, except for when they had to go down a large hill.

"Lean back!" The girls called to him.

And Dean did, mindful not to pull back on Alpert's mouth as they descended.

He could hear Sam's grunts behind him as his younger brother skidded sideways down the descent, and the beam of his flashlight swung unsteadily in the darkness. "You okay back there, Sammy?"

"Yes." Sam said curtly, trying not to turn his ankle on the rocky soil or slide in the somewhat damp leaves.

"Betcha wish you had a horse about now."

Alpert's head moved lower as he carefully picked his way down the slope. It was weird to feel the shift of the musculature as the animal moved beneath him and a little disorienting to feel the ground slide away below them when he couldn't see the terrain well.

"Nope." Sam grunted. "Trust my own two feet better." That was punctuated by the sound of a snapping branch and a curse.

Dean smirked. "Wanna say that agai- " he was cut off by a wet branch smacking him in the face.

Watch your head!" One of the girls giggled and he heard Sam's huffing laugh behind him.

Dean wiped the damp muck out of his face with his arm. "Yeah, a little warning might be nice, girls. Like before it hits me."

No stranger to the darkness, Dean wasn't that put off by the rapidly glowing gloom but it was getting pretty damn black. He was wondering if they should have waited until day to do this but better late than never. Or something. Whatever.

They finally hit the bottom of the incline and he unclenched his stomach at the relief of being safely on level ground again.

Chelsea twisted back to look at him. "Hey babe, how you doing back there?"

Dean grinned cockily. "Easy as pie."

Another branch smacked him in the face.

"Sonofabitch!"

The girls giggled.

Alpert stopped to eat some ferns at his feet. Dean hauled his head up. "Knock it off."

Alpert laid his ears flat and backed up in protest.

Sam grabbed his bridle before it could escalate. "Easy boy." He said calmly. "Dean, quit pulling on the reins."

"He started it."

Even in the gloom he could see Sam's bitch face. "Dean, it's a frigging _HORSE_."

Dean slackened the reins. "Fine."

Sam let him go and Alpert gamely trudged along after Stranger's ass.

"We're almost there," the girls called as Sam walked face first into a cobweb. He brushed at his nose like a man possessed and swore under his breath.

"There's a little log we have to go over here." Leslie said vaguely in the darkness. "Just grab mane."

Sam heard the sound of Stranger navigating over the log, looked up in time to see Alpert approach it.

The grey stopped. He backed up.

"Oh come on," Dean said impatiently. He gave a kick with his booted heel. Alpert walked up to the log again and skittered backwards once more.

Dean kicked him again, harder this time. Alpert bobbed sideways once and then leapt the log from a standstill like a freaking deer.

Dean yelped and fell backwards with the momentum. Only the fact that he had taken more tumbles than Jackie Chan at this point saved him from a terrible fall. Instead, he landed and rolled with the momentum, sliding down an embankment and hitting something hard with his ass.

 _"Fucking Alpo!"_ He cursed and heard something crack. It sounded like a bone.

He froze.

What had he broken?

"Dean!" Sam was beside him in an instant and Chelsea leapt off of her horse and made her way into the little ditch with quick and careful steps.

Sam's hands were on him first, the flashlight dropped beside his thigh as he reached for his brother's face. "Dean, don't move."

"Get off, Sammy!" Dean batted him aside. "Give me a minute."

He assessed himself. Shoulder felt a little sore, maybe a bruise. Ankle maybe little strained. His ass hurt a lot. Had he broken his tailbone? He moved his legs experimentally. They worked fine. "I think I'm good."

He kicked out his feet to get a purchase and banged his boot against something that rattled hollowly.

He followed the beam of Sam's flashlight and saw something illuminated in the darkness.

Bones.

That's what the crunch had been. He _had_ broken a bone, just not his own.

Oblivious, Chelsea's hands were on Dean's chest. "Are you okay?"

For a moment, Dean was torn between being macho and brushing it off or playing hurt to have Chelsea mother and dote on him. Unfortunately, there was the case and Sam hovering next to him, so the latter wasn't really an option. "I'm good, sweetheart." He said in a baritone to rival his father's.

He pulled himself up to sitting and looked around him. "We found some bones, Sammy."

"Yeah," Sam had picked up the flashlight and swung it in an arc. "I see that. I think you're lying in part of the old river bed," he observed, moving the light to see the sides of the ditch Dean had fallen into.

It ran as far as the eye could see in either direction. Which, owing to the darkness, was about 30 feet but it was safe to assume it kept going.

Dean rolled to his knees with a groan. There was a catch in his lower back and he resisted the urge to whine. His tailbone hurt like hell.

He picked a bone out of the detritus on the old riverbed floor and stared at it. "Is this a horse skeleton?" he asked.

Sam's flashlight swung to a partially covered leg bone, probably a canon bone, and to the hoof attached. The beam landed on the slightly rusted iron shoe nailed on. "Yeah. I'd say so, unless they kept huge deer on the property wearing iron shoes." Sam joked. "God this is kind of...macabre. Did he just take horses out back here and shoot them?" He wrinkled his nose and swung the flashlight around. "I don't see any more skeletons."

"This one is further from the others because I remember the pile of them being way down the trail," Chelsea replied, her hand on Dean's arm.

She looked up and jogged over to Alpert who, having won the debate over whether someone was sitting on his back or not, had dunked his head into a thicket of ferns and was munching contentedly.

Sam crouched down and followed the half buried remains with his fingers.

Dean gave him a look and pulled himself to his feet, groaning and holding his tailbone. "My ass hurts."

"Well, you almost broke it," Sam countered, still busy digging at the rich wet soil and inspecting the remains.

"Well," he said. "I think Alpert found the ghost horse for you."

"Huh?" Dean wrinkled his nose. "How can you tell?"

"Well. It's missing a shoe and..." he wordlessly swung the flashlight to the skeletal remains of what once had been a head. The nasal bone was crushed and twisted into an awkward angle.

 **tbc. Thanks to my intrepid reviewers, and to my guest reviews- who I would reply to but can't. It's all appreciated.  
**


	14. Chapter 14

Dean shuddered. "Poor horse. How do you even break a horse's nose like that?"

Sam shrugged. "Blunt trauma? Can't really tell because a lot of the cartilage of the muzzle has decomposed."

Dean looked at him blearily. "Dude, big words. Middle of the night...kinda buzzed. What?"

Sam snorted. "Nevermind."

Dean nodded, satisfied. "So?" He rubbed at his lower back with one hand and looked down. "We salt and burn it?"

Sam thought for a moment. "Those iron shoes aren't gonna burn and obviously the entity is attached to the shoes as well. So pull them off, burn the bones, throw the shoes in a kiln or forge or something?"

Dean shrugged, ran a hand over his face. "I guess?"

Chelsea approached, almost twisting her ankle on a gnarled tree root and leading Alpert. "The rest of the bones are farther ahead."

She cocked an eyebrow as she saw Sam pouring salt from the canister he'd packed onto the skeletal remains. "Like... what are you doing?"

Sam looked up from his work. "Yeah..." he said slowly "...ummm...about this..."

Dean crouched and tried to haul off one of the shoes with his pocket knife.

Chelsea's expressions spoke volumes about her horror.

Dean looked up. "Ghosts are real. 'M brother and I hunt them." Diplomacy was never Dean's strong suit and it suffered further penalty when he was inebriated.

"What?" Chelsea wrinkled her nose, clearly questioning his sanity.

Dean finally got the shoe off and almost toppled on his ass. He threw it down and started with the other as Sam doused the remains with gasoline.

"You ever watch Ghostbusters?" Dean asked, sloppily pulling at the next horse shoe.

"Yeah," Chelsea was backing away from them.

Meanwhile, Leslie had swung Stranger around and was listening. She giggled. "I ain't 'fraid of no ghosts."

"You should be," Dean said seriously. "One killed your friend a few weeks ago."

That sobered her up. "Huh?"

"Dean, this might not be the best time to dump this on the girls." Sam interjected, making sure the fire he wanted to start was going to be contained and not take out half the forest.

Dean threw the second horseshoe with the first and they clinked together. "Well Sammy, they might kinda want to know why we're burning Trigger here."

Leslie seemed confused. "Burning Trigger? You're setting a fire?"

"There's no such thing as ghosts," Chelsea said petulantly "...and what does burning anything have to do with anything?"

Sam briefly debated giving them the explanation speech but figured it would be lost on them because they were too drunk. He had no time anyway, because a snort sounded to his right. A snort away from the direction of the two horses. He looked up to see a shadow of movement over his shoulder.

"Dean," he barked.

The horses reacted before any of the humans. Stranger half bolted sideways, almost knocking off Leslie and Alpert backed up, dragging Chelsea across the damp leaves as she clung to his reins.

The shadow stepped closer, melting out of the darkness. Sam could see the slick of the blood down its chest and the mangled ear, the muzzle crushed sideways-turning something that was once beautiful into a macabre parody of itself.

"Dean," Sam huffed "Get the girls out."

He didn't even have time to complete the sentence before Dean, apparently having the same instinct, grabbed Chelsea around the waist and threw her so hard onto Alpert that she almost went over the grey's side. Alpert skittered sideways, eyes wide, but Dean's hand was firm on the bridle. "Get out as fast as you can! Go!" He smacked Alpert's ass and the horse plunged forward, his reins askew.

Leslie tried to keep Stranger from following until Dean yelled "Go!" at her.

Stranger bolted past him in a cloud of flying sod and leaves, headlong into the darkness.

The ghost whirled to follow and Sam tried to block its way. It snorted and reared up.

Sam dove clear of the flashing hooves. He rolled into the side of the bank, wincing as his shoulder hit a rock.

"Dean, light it up!"

Dean was already frantically flicking his zippo lighter.

The hooves crashed down next to Sam's head. He rolled forward, under the legs as the horse pawed at the bank of earth, bringing it down in moist black clods.

A flash of flame lit the night as Dean succeeded in his task.

Sam tried to scramble out from underneath the pacing hooves, anticipating a shriek and the horse disappearing at any moment, but it seemed completely unaffected by the bones being charred as it stomped and reared.

Sam rolled sideways as a hoof came down and caught part of his carhartt under it. He whimpered as his shoulder was suddenly pinned under 1200 pounds of angry ghost. He gritted his teeth and twisted pointlessly, fully expecting to feel hooves crashing through his back at any moment.

Dean threw the rest of the canister of salt at it with a curse and it disappeared.

"Come on Sammy, get up!"

His brother's hands were on him, hauling him to his feet.

"You okay? Hmmm?" Dean's eyebrow was cocked inquisitively.

Sam looked at the hoof print on the brown canvas of his left shoulder.

"Yeah." He panted. "It only got the excess fabric of my jacket. Pinned me down though, couldn't move."

"Well salting and burning the fucker didn't work." Dean observed the obvious as the flames leapt into the sky behind him. "I hope we don't set the damn woods on fire." The glow of the flame lit his cheek in a soft yellow orange.

"The shoes. It's gotta be anchored to the shoes." Sam shouted above the crackle.

Dean patted the pocket of his leather jacket and Sam heard a metallic clang. "Got em. Let's go get the fourth one before that thing comes back."

They gathered their stuff and started up the hill, a little lost in the dark.

Quite a bit of time passed with them wandering rather haphazardly through paths tangled with undergrowth and ferns, protruding roots and slippery pine needles. Dean moved like a man on a mission, climbing doggedly through the maze of natural obstacles. Sam recognized nothing. He paused, breathing heavily.

"Do you have any fucking clue where we're going?" Sam asked suddenly.

Dean who was still ahead of him, confidently leading the way, stopped and looked back. He blinked. "I thought you knew."

Sam resisted the urge to bash his head into the nearest tree. "I'm following _you,_ Dean."

Dean blinked again. "Oh." He glanced around them uselessly. "Right."

"Oh my god! How much did you drink?"

"Ummm. I dunno." Dean glanced at the wall of dark forest that surrounded them on all sides. "Well, look, we came mostly down on the way in so if we go mostly up we should get back out."

"That's what you've been leading us by? Purposefully taking every hill because up is out?" Sam rolled his shoulder which was starting to throb from his impact with the rocks earlier.

"I was following you."

"I'm BEHIND you!"

This seemed too complex for Dean at the moment. "You were mostly beside me and you didn't go a different way or say anything." He rubbed at his lower back.

"Oh my god." Sam miserably sat down next to the trunk of a tree. He could feel the damp New York cold soaking through the seat of his pants. He didn't care. He was tired and kind of cold, miserable. Frustrated. Lost in the woods with his drunken brother, bruised up by a ghost horse instead of studying in some sunny clime at Stanford. Some childish part of his mind almost wanted to cry.

"S'mmy. Stop bein' a pussy and get up."

"Shut up, Dean."

"Are you having a problem?" His older brother asked gruffly.

"Yeah. I am." The answer was petulant. Sam knew it.

There was silence for a moment. "You're the one who put us on this case, Dude."

Sam couldn't even argue with that. That made it worse. His drunk fucking brother was right. He pulled his knees up toward his chest, leaned his head in his arms for a moment and mumbled. "Don't let me chose the cases from now on."

"God, you bitch all the time. Don't you ever get tired of bitchin'?"

"I'm frustrated." Sam said, tossing a small flat rock into a tree. It thunked and skipped down the slope a little.

"You think I'm not frustrated? You think I know what the fuck we're doing? I don't! But I keep going... you know why? Because that's what you do. That's what our _Dad taught_ us to do. You don't give up and you don't cry and you don't frigging whine. You take care of business!"

He sounded so sober that Sam looked up. Which was futile, because he could barely see him in the darkness. He couldn't see Dean or the ground or the fucking sky to find a star to navigate by. "I'm doing my best."

"Well your best sucks right now."

Sam wanted to shove him but Dean was drunk so he let him have a pass. He stood up, grimaced at his shoulder.

"Wait, do you hear that?" Dean asked, cocking his head.

Sam held his breath. Then he heard it. Girl's voices calling them. "Sam! Dean!"

"I told you this was the right way," Dean said smugly. "Up. Up was the right way."

They climbed the hill, Sam needing to grab a stray sapling now and then to help haul himself over the steep incline and smacking himself on the head with the occasional low branch. Flat rocks skittered down under his work boots and, finally, they were close enough to see the beams of the girl's flashlights as they paced the edge of the treeline calling for them.

"We're down here, girls!" Sam shouted back. "Stay there. We'll be up!"

They finished the hike to wind up in the field near the trailer. The bonfire was still going.

Leslie grabbed onto Sam's jacket. "Oh my god! Are you okay?"

Chelsea looked like she'd been crying. "We thought that thing got you! What's going on?"

Sam looked at Dean. Dean looked at Sam. It was going to be a long explanation. One neither of them particularly wanted to give.

 **tbc...thanks for reading, guys. Reviews are yummy, yummy buckets of grain.**


	15. Chapter 15

"These bullet shells are filled with rock salt." Sam loaded a few shells into one of the pump action shot guns he'd grabbed from the Impala.

Leslie hovered at his shoulder, curious and rapt with attention. "Do you think it will come back tonight?"

Sam shrugged. "Anything is possible but it hasn't seemed to have done that before. We did have a tangle with it not long ago and it left when Dean threw a salt lick at it. He turned to look at her somberly. "Les, until we get this sorted out I need you to be very careful, okay?"

"Okay?"

"I just want you to stay safe."

She grinned "I'll be safe. I _always_ carry protection." She gave him a little wink.

Sam took a moment to catch on and then blushed. "You are just non-stop aren't you?"

She smiled in her effervescent, naughty way. "Yeah."

Sam leaned down and gave her a kiss. She returned it, holding the contact for a moment longer than he did and they broke apart grinning.

He shook his head with his little huff and a shy smile.

"We need to figure out how to melt down those shoes because I'm fairly certain the entity is attached to them."

"And then you'll be done."

Sam nodded. "Yeah. That's usually how it goes."

Leslie paused as if she were thinking. "Melt them down, huh? Why does that work?"

He shrugged. "Purification through fire?"

"Iron is going to be difficult to burn."

"Yeah. I'm aware of that. This seems like a manufacturing town. Maybe some industrial equipment. Or solvent? Maybe we can, like, dissolve them."

"How does that work? Hey, we're chasing ghosts, can I stop in and melt these old ass horse shoes in your industrial furnace?"

"Yeah," Sam snorted. "Usually doesn't work that way. We tend to break in, do what we have to do and get out."

Leslie grabbed a beer. "Ooo. Naughty. I knew you had a naughty side, Sam."

She took a sip.

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Haven't you guys had enough of those for one night?"

She rolled her eyes. "No, Daddy. I'm fine. Want one?"

"No. I think someone needs to keep their head on straight for tonight. And if it's between Dean and me...it's always me."

She took another long pull. "That get old?"

Sam watched her throat work as she swallowed. Felt himself getting a little warm, ignored the fleeting thought.

He shrugged. "Not really, that's just kinda how it seems to have always been with us. I don't know why."

"You guys seem to make a good team. Even with the barn chores. You work well together."

Sam caught a look at his reflection in the stainless steel of the kitchen sink. Even with the distortion of the curved surface, he could see how bedraggled he looked. His hair was a wreck, his face streaked with mud. He ducked his head into the sink and turned on the water, splashed some on his face. "You could have told me I looked like I slid into home plate on my face."

Leslie shrugged. "It's cute. Gives you that Indiana Jones appeal."

He snorted and wiped his face off with a paper towel. "Yeah. Me and Harrison Ford. We're just alike."

She grinned again. "I kinda think you are."

Sam huffed and shook his head, but his eyes held a hint of fondness.

* * *

Chelsea turned around in the chair and straddled Dean. He made a contented sound in the back of his throat as her weight settled on his lap and thighs.

He shoved his hand under her shirt to feel the silky smoothness of her back and slipped a finger under the back of her bra clasp.

The warmth of the fire licked at his knees and arms. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the chair.

Chelsea's mouth found the juncture of his shoulder and neck. He groaned.

Oh yeah, that was good. Felt so nice in the outdoors, the fire and her warmth chasing away the chill. The smell of the Burning wood and Chelsea's awesome shampoo in his nose. He felt lazy and sated, letting her take the wheel.

She worked her way up to his mouth and their lips met. "Sam and Leslie are indoors," she whispered.

"Yeah," Dean acknowledged, sliding his hands to her sides.

"We're all alone."

"Mmmhmmm." He said as her own hands glided over his chest.

He leaned back to savor the movement. His ass was still a little sore from his fall from hours earlier, but he was definitely feeling better.

It had to be pretty damn late by now. He could never tell, being used to the hours he and Sam kept.

The first several hours consisted of calming the girls down, giving half-assed simplified explanations of ghosts and how they normally dealt with them.

Then they'd had dinner down the road at the diner to sober up a bit, come back and resumed drinking. So yeah, the sobering up didn't work too well, but the food was pretty damn good.

The sound of a truck rattling in the distance reached his ears and he looked up curiously. "Who is that?"

Chelsea peppered his jawline with kisses. "Probably Jeanette and everyone else back from the clinic."

"Oh." He said and suddenly Chelsea reached her hand down his pants. He closed his eyes and groaned. Oh God, this is what he lived for.

For some reason, Dean suddenly had a stray thought of Jeanette rubbing his back. Of her hands on his skin. It made him jerk away a little.

"What?" she asked.

Dean answered by kissing Chelsea deeply.

He could hear the trailer being unloaded in the darkness, the ringing of the hooves on the metal.

He thought of Jeanette's arms around him, holding him in her warmth. Soothing him.

 _What the hell?_ He redoubled his efforts to get her out of his head.

It wasn't working-more from frustration and bafflement than anything, he could feel himself flagging under Chelsea's hand.

She looked up curiously. "This not doing it for you?"

Dean Winchester, unflappable and having no shame in most every situation, blushed. "I..." he stammered. "Think, mebbe I drank a little too much? Or somethin'."

She pulled her hand out. "Oh." There was definitely disappointment in her voice.

 _Oh my god, Winchester, what the hell is wrong with you?_

He gave a nervous smile. "I'm sorry, this usually doesn't happen...I mean...it's not..."

Chelsea gave him a kiss on the cheek and put her hands on his shoulders. "That's okay. It's been a weird night. You took a spill too. You sore?"

He shifted under her. "My ass has definitely been happier."

She grinned mischievously and ground into him. "My ass is happy right where it is."

"Oh God," Dean's eyes rolled back into his head. She started to kiss him again.

"You okay with a makeout session?" She nipped his ear.

"Hell yeah." Dean responded, his hands on her back again. He lost himself in the moment, unaware of time passing until a voice cut through his curtain of lust.

"Dean, darling. Could you help me with-" Jeanette paused as she realized that Dean wasn't alone.

Chelsea and him both looked up.

Chelsea smiled sloppily. Her tone was bright and welcoming. "Hey, how was the clinic? We have a ton to tell you!"

Dean paused, his heart in his throat. His hands on the little blonde's waist.

He caught Jeanette's look of pure _hurt_ before she tried to cover it. "I... saw the bonfire going and figured you were up this late." There was an elegance to her even as she stood there alone in the semi-darkness. "I'm sorry, you're busy, you kids carry on."

She gave a careless wave and turned her back to them, her tan breeches and boots lit by fireglow. It danced off her chestnut hair, loose in a sloppy bun.

Dean almost dumped Chelsea off his lap. "Jeannette," he said standing up. "I can help."

Chelsea caught her balance and looked at him with bafflement. "She just said it's fine..." she paused, looked to her trainer's retreating figure and back to Dean's stricken expression.

"Are you fucking serious?" Chelsea asked.

Dean tore his eyes away from Jeanette and ran a hand over his face. "It's not what it seems like..."

"Oh really?"

"No...it's just..." he paused.

"Maybe she should know her barn is haunted." Chelsea started after Jeanette.

Dean stood staring after them, then grabbed a beer and flopped gracelessly onto the lawn chair. It collapsed under his weight with the sound of creaking metal and dumped him onto the ground. "Sonofabitch!"

 **Hope I haven't lost you guys. Still more chaos to come.**


	16. Chapter 16

Dean remained on the ground in a sprawl for several minutes. The impact of the ground on his already sore tailbone did nothing to improve his mood. He finally rolled off of the mess of bent aluminum and plastic and lay on his side in the grass for a moment. The beer he'd been holding had spilled partially across his lap, making him feel like he'd pissed his pants. Of course. Because. Just because.

He found himself face to face with the little canvas bag of supplies Sam had left out after their trail. His brother must've been distracted. Usually Sam was sickeningly organized. It seemed odd for him to forget and leave something outside.

Dean reached behind himself and rubbed at his lower back and ass with a groan and then rolled to his hands and knees and pushed himself up with a pained grunt. He'd had enough of today. He kind of wanted to go inside, mix some pain pills and whiskey and knock himself the fuck out.

Or hurl himself into the bonfire but that seemed a bit melodramatic.

A piercing scream and cacophony of horse sounds echoed from down the field in the direction of the stables.

Dean's reaction was immediate. "Sam!" He yelled.

Dean made a grab for the little pack of provisions Sam had brought on the trail with them and dashed down the hill, all his discomfort forgotten.

* * *

Jeanette screamed again as the huge black horse advanced on her. It's intact ear was laid back, it's bent muzzle and bared teeth some sort of macabre parody of a horse.

The horses in the stable were exploding in terror. Whinnies and kicking echoed off of the stall boards.

The black charged her. Only her countless years as a horse woman told her the body language as to what way it was going to strike and she dodged.

Chelsea was a good distance behind her, somewhat frozen.

The horse seemed intent on Jeanette for the moment. Though whether it was to kill her or to knock her out of the way to get to the young blonde seemed open to debate.

Jeanette had gone quiet after her initial shock and was focused on avoiding injury. The bloody wound on the horse's chest dripped onto the floor, and it walked through it forming strangely shaped hoof prints in blood. It charged her abruptly and this time it caught her with a shoulder like a linebacker and she was thrown against a stall door hard enough to wind her.

* * *

Dean's speed was aided by adrenaline as he heard metallic hooves on concrete and snorts and a feminine cry.

He pelted into the main aisle way just behind the horse and skidded to a halt.

It turned its head to look at him. "Come on, you douche!"

It decided it didn't care about Dean and reared up to strike Jeanette with a front hoof. She cried out and ducked.

Dean ran over to the fray and swung the pack in his hand in a hard arc. It smacked the black's side and the horse struck out with a cow kick that almost took out Dean's knees.

He dashed by the big horse and grabbed Jeanette's arm to haul her away from under the flashing hooves.

The horse struck out blindly and snapped its teeth as he passed, catching the back of Dean's jeans in its mouth and almost taking him off balance. He yelped as the teeth hit him and tore his back pocket. He shoved Jeanette out of the way and swung the pack again, this time catching the ghost against its broken muzzle.

It squealed horribly and stepped back.

Dean tore open the pack and grabbed the mostly empty canister of salt. He started to pour it in a line across the aisle.

"Girls, behind the line. Stay behind this, you hear me?" He barked, fixing them with an authoritative glare. He didn't have quite enough. The line was pathetically thin. The horse launched itself at him and backed off as it neared the salt. He shrank back reflexively. The sheer size of the animal was intimidating as hell.

The girls were frantic behind him with questions he couldn't answer or pay attention to and crying. The horse leaned its head down almost curiously to sniff the salt. For a moment, it almost seemed like a normal horse. Until its expression turned fierce and it snorted loudly. To Dean's horror, the breath of the snort blew away whatever thin and fragile layer of salt was keeping it at bay.

It locked gazes with him and its reddish eyes were hateful and wild and pained. It pawed the ground and it's bloody hoof scraped against the concrete with a horrible ring of metal on stone.

Dean backed off. It snorted again and a bloody spray of foam and snot flew across the floor and landed on his cheek.

He turned and pushed Jeanette ahead of him. "Run!" He yelled.

They took off and Dean heard the plunge of hooves behind him, gaining, ready to mow them down like a charging bull. The terror was real and palatable and something very very old and primal.

Then there was the horrifyingly loud report of a shotgun blast in the aisle and the horse disappeared. Dean flinched at the sound and whirled around to see Sam standing at the end of the aisle.

Sam loaded another shell and nodded to his brother. "You okay?"

Dean waved at him. "Good timing, Sammy."

Chelsea stood white faced and Jeanette didn't look any better. Her cheek was bleeding where she'd impacted the wooden stall door.

Dean walked over to her. "You okay?"

She shook her head and then burst into tears. "Awwww. Hey." He reached out for her. She walked into his arms and he cradled her.

"Okay. Okay, sweetheart." He nuzzled the top of her chestnut hair in a particularly fond way, almost paternal. "I've gotcha."

Sam walked in cautiously, looking around like like a nervous rabbit. "Is it gone?"

Dean shrugged. "We need to get that final horseshoe and get rid of the damn things," he said over Jeanette's hair.

She was shuddering slightly.

Dean looked to Chelsea. "Chels, she's hurt. Can you take her inside the house and clean her up?"

Chelsea paused, looked completely confused and shook her head. "I...I need to go home," she replied, somewhat tearfully.

"Chelsea." Dean said again, a little firmer. "Take Jeanette up to the house. Lock the doors and pour salt in front of the doorways. Sammy and I are gonna take care of things down here."

Dean looked to both the girls, an air of authority about him, suddenly reminiscent of his father...if any of them had known his father. "I want you to get Leslie. The three of you are NOT to leave the damn house until morning, you hear me? Don't you step foot outside. I'm not joking."

Chelsea nodded. Dean released the older woman with a quick press of his lips against her hair and walked over to Sam, all business and focus. "Thing has never appeared twice in one night before."

"No," Sam replied, "but we really disturbed the horseshoes tonight. I'm not even convinced that it won't come back again. Every time we move one of those things it's like it summons it."

"What do we do to get rid of the damn things?" Dean asked.

Sam shrugged. "Some kind of industrial furnace?"

Leslie had appeared in the large doorway of the aisle, her eyes scanning the scene before her.

She walked over to Jeanette and put her arms around her. She looked pointedly at the boys. "You know, I'm a long term substitute teacher around Chenango Forks High school."

Dean stared at her. "Yeah?"

"An _art_ teacher."

"Still not following. We gonna draw the horse a picture?"

She paused, her arm still around her trainer. "We make ceramics..."

Sam's eyes went wide. "The kiln! Of course."

"I have a high temperature kiln. It can fire porcelain but we mostly use it for clay art projects. My room is 105, first floor. I never told you this." She clarified.

Sam huffed. "No. Of course not."

Dean turned and headed for the office. "I'm going to grab the last horseshoe out of the office."

Jeanette was watching him and her face fell a little as he spoke. She watched Dean jog out of sight and regained her composure. Once again she had her remote and dignified bearing about her. "Come on girls. Let's go to the house."

Sam turned and jogged after his brother. It was going to be a long night.

 **tbc...**


	17. Chapter 17

Dean ducked around the side of the large brick building and scanned for security devices.

He spotted a camera and waved to Sam.

"The doors have alarm systems, but otherwise this doesn't look too hard to break into."

Dean jumped up and grabbed a fire escape. He pulled himself up to a second floor window and started to jimmy the lock. He was sliding in before Sam even joined him.

They moved quietly along the hallway and headed down the stairs, flashlights lighting the way with small beams. Dust motes danced in the air as they moved. The smell was familiar. All schools seemed to smell the same, linoleum and lockers and chalk dust.

Sam was reading the numbered doors quietly to himself and Dean followed, trusting his brother's sense of navigation.

His ass was aching him quite annoyingly. He was sure he'd bruised his tailbone with his double fall but he was starting to think the horse bite had nicked him as well. It burned and throbbed under the torn pocket of his jeans.

"This is it." Sam twisted the door. It was locked.

He pulled a credit card out of his wallet and slid it between the door jamb and latch bolt mechanism and gave it a flick. It opened with a small click.

He nudged the door to the empty room and slipped in.

Dean followed, closed it and reached blindly for the light switch. He smacked into a desk with his thigh and hissed, almost taking his third spill of the night. He swore and Sam flicked on the light, blinding him.

"Sonofabitch. This is not my night." He threw his arm in front of his eyes to shield them.

Sam was dodging through the tangle of desks and art supplies with a supple agility that belied his height.

He found the office door and swung it open too sharply. It slammed into the wall with a sharp bang and there was the sound of crashing pottery.

Sam went pale.

"What?"

"Well there goes Leslie's student's art projects. They were kinda curing on a shelf behind the door."

Sam approached the top loading silver kiln and stared at it a minute, trying to get his bearings.

"Have you ever used one of these things?" He asked.

Dean walked over and raised an eyebrow. "Oh yeah. Dad and I used to make tons of ceramics together when you were at college. It was a bonding thing. Dad's specialty was bowls but I preferred urns."

Sam huffed and located the power cord. He plugged it into the wall outlet. "Okay. Got this much at least."

Dean observed the structure of it for a minute and finally pulled the top open and looked inside. "Well I'd say this is the innie part."

"The innie part?"

"Yeah," Dean took the horseshoes out of the pocket of his jacket and placed them inside the kiln. "These bitches are kinda heavy." He observed. "This is obviously where stuff goes IN."

"Right." Sam was scanning the kiln looking for a place to make temperature adjustments. "Obviously it's called the innie part then."

Dean closed and locked the heavy steel lid. "Jesus, Sam. I didn't take Ceramics 101. Who gives a shit what it's called."

Sam found the adjustment and turned it to the highest setting. "I know iron does not melt until 2,800 Fahrenheit. This thing goes to 3,000 degrees. So it should be JUST hot enough."

"Goddamn. 3,000 degrees? What is that, like the temperature of the freaking sun?"

"I think that's about 3 and a half million degrees Fahrenheit," Sam replied absently, turning on the kiln. "How long does this thing take to go through a cycle?" He wondered aloud.

Dean stared at him like he had 3 heads. "How do you know that? Why do you know shit like that."

"I don't know how long a cycle takes that's why I asked." Sam was looking around for an instruction manual.

"No. The sun, numbnuts."

"Huh?" Sam blinked. "I don't know. Read it somewhere I guess."

"Why would you read that? How do we even know that? Did NASA like _fly_ a space shuttle with a thermometer up there?"

Sam knitted his eyebrows together. "I'm not even going to answer that."

"I'm joking. God, give me some credit."

The kiln was taking a while to heat up, although Sam could feel the heat standing where he was.

"I think we may be here awhile," he said.

"I hope not," Dean replied. "My ass hurts and I have to pee."

"You know," Sam said. "I'm kind of starting to like Leslie."

Dean looked at him with sudden interest. He seemed happy. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Sam said.

"She's a nice girl. You should like her...nice ass too. Damn... the way those breeches fit."

Sam blushed a little and averted his eyes. "Not arguing."

Dean was definitely happy now. "You dog, you. I can read those naughty thoughts."

"Don't get carried away there, Dean." Sam leaned his weight casually on the low shelves, half sitting there, legs crossed at the ankles. "I was wondering if _your_ ass was hurting you. Took a good fall off that horse."

"I'm didn't fall, Sam. Alpo threw me."

"I'm sure Chelsea will love that your nickname for her pride and joy is a brand of dog food."

"Thing should be dog food. Or glue."

Sam snorted and shook his head. "That sort of treatment of animals is why we're here in the first place."

Dean softened a little. "Yeah. Maybe. Ghost Horse looks like it's in rough shape. Kind of weird that it seems to be targeting women though when it was clearly killed by a man."

"Maybe there's just not enough men in the stables here to kill. I mean we seem to be it."

"Yeah that's weird."

Sam shrugged. "Was that way in Stanford too. Girls really like horses. Men like motorcycles."

"You ever gonna tell me about that?" Dean asked casually, fishing around in his coat pockets.

"About what?"

"How you have so much experience with horses?" Dean stopped and looked at him pointedly.

Sam went a little quiet.

Dean nodded sagely. "She break your heart or somethin'?"

"Jess rode a little when she was in her teens," Sam acquiesced. "There was another girl before her." Sam trailed off with a quiet resignation. "But I don't really want to talk about Stanford, Dean."

Dean shrugged. "Your choice, man. But why not?"

"Because..." Sam shrugged, seemed to be casting around for words. "I can't go back and it hurts, you know...I'd just rather not think about it."

Dean's expression fell. "Oh. Yeah. Forgot how miserable you are on the road with me."

"Don't do that." Sam's voice turned sharp.

"Do what."

"It's not you. It's the job."

Dean looked at him for a long minute. _Really_ looked at the shaggy hair and sloping nose and sad eyes. "You were really happy there weren't you?"

Sam nodded tightly. "Yeah. I was" There was a pause, as if his brother were considering revealing something private. "Dean, sometimes I miss Jess so much I can't breathe."

A strange sound seemed to be coming from inside the kiln suddenly.

Both of them looked up.

Dean backed away a little. "I'm guessing that's not normal."

"What on earth?" Sam wrinkled his nose, also backing toward the one exit. His mind was racing. "We did everything correctly...I don't...wait. Dean were the horse shoes completely dry?"

"I think so..."

"The kiln doesn't." Sam grabbed his brother, shoved him out of the room and slammed the door. There was a sound like a cannon and they both instinctively ducked and covered their heads. Individual pieces of shrapnel could be heard hitting the wall and then the sprinkler system went off, followed by the sound of spitting and hissing steam on the other side of the door as water dowsed the super-heated kiln.

A moment later the fire alarm went off.

Sam looked to Dean. "That went well."

"Are they melted?" Dean asked, resisting the urge to bolt. He started to open the door and Sam stopped him.

"You want your face burned off by that steam?"

"Not particularly." Dean winced at the racket the security system was causing.

"They melted." Sam yelled over the alarm. "They also probably had remnants of dew on them and the environment super-heated it, turning it to steam with no chance to escape."

"Boom?" Dean asked.

Sam nodded. "Boom. Let's get the hell outta here."

Dean dashed over and opened one of the windows, he squeezed out, ignoring the burning pain in his ass and dashed for the Impala. Sam was right behind him.

They leapt into the car with an efficiency born of too much practice doing just that and Dean peeled out of the parking lot. "So all we needed to win the last few wars were a bunch of damp iron horseshoes inside a kiln. Good to know."

Sam started to say something but shook his head and laughed. They could hear the sirens pulling into the parking lot far behind them as they pulled out and started on the road back to the barn.

 **So this week I spent way too much time researching how to melt iron and ways to destroy a kiln. And the temperature of the sun. Thanks for the reviews, all. They help feed my madness. Many many thanks to you who take the time to encourage me most every chapter. Love and appreciate you all.  
**


	18. Chapter 18

_Thank you so much to Alex and Captain Monster Masher, Irreality, and my Guest reviewer for letting me know you're still hanging in there following this._

The sun was about an hour from breaking over the horizon when Dean knocked at the door to Jeanette's overly ornate, sprawling white house. Probably the sort of place Jessica Moore had come from, he thought to himself.

He hadn't realized how distraught over her death Sam still was.

His brother hid it well. In fact, to know that some days he had apparently suffered so badly that he felt like he could barely breathe and Dean hadn't even known bothered him. They spent _hours_ in the car together, _hours_ in motel rooms together, living in each other's pockets and they still did not know what went on in each other's heads. There was something disturbing about that realization.

No one kept secrets like a Winchester. Dean knew. He was one.

After a few moments, Leslie opened the door.

She seemed relieved to see him. "Did it work? "

"Yeah, about that...don't be surprised if you have an hour delay at school today." Dean scratched his head and looked at her almost apologetically.

"What?"

"Sam can explain."

"Where is he?" Leslie looked past him out into the lightening field.

"He's back at the trailer." Dean motioned in the opposite direction.

She looked down at the line of salt guarding the door way. "Is it safe for me to go talk to him?"

"Yeah," he said. "I think the horse should be gone. You girls can go home."

He turned to head back to the trailer, but his peripheral vision caught Jeanette watching him from the foyer. "Everything okay?" She asked.

Dean halted awkwardly. "Yeah. Umm. I think we took care of the problem."

Leslie had slipped on her shoes and edged past him to go talk to Sam.

Chelsea took her leave as well, silently shooting Dean a look and heading to her car.

Dean stood in the doorway, feeling stupid.

He cleared his throat. "We'll probably be leaving in the morning. Or maybe tomorrow." He jerked his thumb over his shoulder as if that vaguely identified where they'd be going.

Jeanette had changed out of her barn clothes into a loose pair of lounge pants and a blue silk blouse. Her hair was down and the cut on her cheek stood out starkly against her pale skin.

"You take care of that cut?" Dean asked.

She nodded.

He shuffled awkwardly for a moment, looking very boyish in his uncertainty. "Good."

He turned stiffly, feeling the night's bruises catching up to him.

Jeanette walked over to him, confident and collected once more. Almost regal. "Let me make you a drink. You look exhausted."

"Long night," Dean said.

"So you've been hunting for ghosts the entire time you and your brother have been here?"

"Yeah."

"Why not just tell us?" Her eyes searched his.

Dean snorted. "Good way to end up in a loony bin."

He shifted weight off his leg, uncomfortably. "You got an ice pack?" he asked.

She waved him in.

* * *

Dean couldn't even hide his limp by the time he made it into the living room. He was hesitant to walk on the expensive carpet with his dirt covered work boots and took a minute to toe them off somewhat painfully. He limped over to her couch and stood there a moment while Jeanette gave him a drink, which he tossed back, not caring whether it was expensive or not. She handed him the icepack.

He winced as he sat down, hissing as he rolled his weight onto his right buttock, then shifted the freezing bag of blue gel behind him.

Jeanette took pity. "Darling, lie down and let me set it on your back."

Dean sat blinking for a minute and then he flopped onto his belly. She pulled up his short blue denim jacket and touched the muscle of his lower back. "Where do you hurt?"

"My ass," he said. "Tailbone."

She looked down and observed his jean's pocket. It was half ripped off and hanging by a few threads. "Did that thing actually bite you?"

"Haven't had time to look," Dean muttered into the pillow. "But it sure feels it."

"Maybe we should get you to a doctor?"

For the Winchesters, doctors were reserved for imminent death. "Nah. I'm good. Up to date on my tetanus and don't think ghosts carry rabies."

"Can you lower your jeans for me and I can set the icepack on your tailbone?"

Dean unbuckled his pants and pushed them down a little. Jeanette put the icepack on over his grey briefs, just under the waistband of his jeans.

"I can see bruising already." She said, tracing her hand over the purple peeking over his underwear. "You must have taken a good spill. Do you want some Tylenol?"

He turned his head to look up at her through long lashed green eyes. "Any painkiller sounds awesome right now."

She left for a moment and Dean lay drowsily in his spot. The couch was soft. His head was throbbing along with his ass, though.

She set the bottle down on the glass coffee table in front of him.

"You saved my life," she said, taking a seat on the cream leather love seat to the right of the couch.

Dean blinked.

"And the girls' lives earlier. I love my girls. So thank you."

"Thought you were gonna be mad at me." He said, his cheek pressed against the couch cushion. "Figured I was gonna catch hell."

"You saved me and my girls, can't be too angry." She hesitated. "So when you were in my office that day, and I found you there..."

"I was looking for the horse shoe," Dean said.

Something in Jeanette's eyes flickered a little. "But you had no shirt on..."

"Sam pushed me into the water trough like a douche so I took off my wet clothes."

Her expression went a little tight but she nodded. "Of course." She pinched the bridge of her nose. "I'm such a prize idiot."

Dean watched her, baffled. "No you aren't."

"Darling." She shook her head. "Someone like me is experienced enough, _old_ enough to know..." She rolled her eyes to the ceiling. To Dean's horror, he saw unshed tears before she put them in check and was able to look back at him. "...That you wouldn't be interested in an old bag like me. You're a young, handsome boy. I mean you SHOULD be with a young beauty like Chelsea. I don't even know what I was thinking." She laughed and it sounded small.

Dean felt his heart constrict. He was utterly clueless what to even say to her.

He sat up with a groan and reached for the Tylenol. Felt the icepack slip off his back. His fingers worked open the safety cap. He dry swallowed a couple tablets.

"I think I just..." she continued reflectively, staring into her wine glass, mesmerized by the way the light played off the rim. "...found a young dolly before he left, couldn't have been more than 30 and I guess I just needed to believe someone would find me...desirable. I should have known when you were so nervous." She laughed.

"I think you're beautiful." Dean said.

"You don't need to tell me that, sweetheart." She said maternally. "I'm old enough...I'm probably quite older than your father. I know better."

"You are." He said. "I'm not just saying it."

She teared up.

"Don't cry!" He said, rubbing his fingers through his hair with some distress. "Fuck. I don't want you to cry! I'm sorry, Jeanette. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

She walked over to him and gently laid a kiss on his forehead just below his hairline and pressed his face into the warmth of her breast. He went willingly, closing his eyes. Her hand rubbed a soothing circle on his back. "I think you're pretty," he said again.

She let out a half laugh, half sob.

Dean winced, feeling like everything he said just made it worse. "I'm sorry." He said again.

She hugged him a little and he hugged her back, then bit off a groan as he moved slightly.

"Darling."He could hear her heart from where he was. It was soothing. She pulled away and knelt so that she was eye level with him.

He blinked, looking deceptively angelic.

"Are you hurting? You want another massage?"

"That was the best massage of my life," Dean said earnestly. "And that includes the ones with the happy endings." Thus ruining his angelic look.

She laughed, taken aback by his statement.

"Well, then I guess it must be good, huh? Us old ladies know a thing or two." She winked.

He looked up at her as she stood. "But what about you? You got thrown into the wall."

"Leslie helped with that earlier. They're great girls."

"Yeah. Chels seems a little mad at me though."

Dean slid off the couch, crawled back over to the soft fur rug and took off his jacket and shirt as he spoke. He laid down and sighed.

Jeanette knelt next to him and started to knead his shoulders. "She is upset. Women don't like it much when you come on to two of then at once."

"Yeah...I...god, I'm sorry." He said again.

"I should know better... You're going to need that icepack again." She paused and he felt her tug down the back of his underwear to look. "You're bruising a lot."

Dean leaned his cheek into the rug. It felt heavenly. "Comes with the job."

"What do you tend to charge?"

"Charge? Like money?" He asked. "No. We don't charge for this kind of work."

"Seems awful dangerous to not get paid." Her hand moved over his shoulder blade.

He cried out as she hit a knot.

"Breathe through it." She sank her fingers in harder.

Dean whimpered and tried to haul in a breath. She pressed on the knot, waiting for it to release.

"Oh god, Jeanette." He tensed his body.

"Breathe."

He took a breath and the knot shifted and gave way. She gently stroked over his skin. "What was a ghost doing in my stable?"

"Near as Sam and I could guess, it was attached to the horse shoe you kept in the drawer."

She worked under his shoulder blade and tears sprang into his eyes. "You are so knotted, it's unbelievable..."

"We..." he groaned as another knot released. "Think that the ghost showed up when it was disturbed."

Her hands danced down his lower back, which was very knotted. She didn't have the heart to dig in as aggressively so she smoothed up and down the muscle as they talked. "Why would there be a ghost here?"

"Well the original owner of these three parcels of land was a horse trader named Ichabod..." he wanted to say Crane. "Something or other."

"Stevenson... it's on the deed. I think he was actually a relative of Cathy Channing."

"Who?" Dean asked.

"The owner of Pine Farm."

He paused. "Oh yeah, the icy bitch."

Jeanette snorted. "She isn't warm."

"She didn't seem to give a shit that one of her pupils died horribly a few weeks before we showed up." Dean burrowed his face into the fur again. He needed one of these rugs to roll around naked on. "So how come she has the dumpiest barn if she's the relative?"

Jeanette shrugged. "It's just the oldest one. She needed money so she sold off the surrounding land. This facility is very new."

"Sam and I think that when you built here you disturbed something-that happens with the paranormal. It stirs it up." Dean shifted under her touch, stretching like a cat.

"Ichabod was rumored to be nasty. The girls found horse bones in the woods for years." She kneaded a little deeper into the muscle. Dean winced. "It's their big tourist attraction. Leslie is so macabre. She has to tell everyone."

"Probably the horse was abused horribly and dumped out back. Spirits attach themselves to objects sometimes. Or the body itself. Sam and I burned the bones and destroyed the shoes. That should do it."

"Rumor was he had a wife that died young. Actually..." Jeanette paused as if recalling some piece of information. "I think she was killed by one of his horses."

"Bingo," Dean said. "Horse kills wife. He loses his temper beats the shit out of horse, kills horse and traumatized Secretariat becomes a serial killer."

She moved her hand lower to his tailbone and pressed gently on his buttocks, rocking his hips from side to side.

It was excruciating.

Dean cried out. "No! Stop! _Stop_ that really hurts!"

"Breathe for me, darling." She moved her thumbs to either side of his sacrum, bearing down gently.

"I mean it." He tensed, fighting tears.

She moved her hands to a different spot and pressed again. "Dean, what's your birthday?"

"What?" He panted, taken aback by the change in subject. "January-"

She pressed into his hip with an elbow while he was distracted and cracked his vertebrae.

He cried out in shock, half turning to look at her in violated horror. "What the fuck did you do?"

"I fixed your lumbar spine. My father was a chiropractor. I learned a few things." She had her hand on his hip. "That should help with the little pains you probably get down your leg sometimes."

He blinked, shocked. "Yeah. Yeah I do. Got tossed into a headstone a few months back. Been botherin' me since then."

She patted his hip. "Back on your tummy. Let's get you another ice pack."

Dean looked up at her nakedly.

She caught the oddly vulnerable expression. "What, darling?"

"You're just so...good to me." He replied, almost in wonderment.

She kissed his head. "You deserve someone to be good to you, silly."

He patted the rug next to him.

She grabbed the mostly not cold ice pack and set it back on his rump. "I have some mineral ice I can rub into that later."

Dean patted it again. "Come on, sweetheart."

"Dean, you don't have to cuddle me ..."

"I want to." He tugged her wrist and she settled down next to him on the rug. He put an arm around her, nuzzled her hair. She let him pull her close, closed her eyes and sank into his warmth. Dean kissed her ear.

"Darling..."

"Just let me," he whispered, his hand roaming over her body.

He was far too sore and tired to really even think about sex, but touching her felt good. Felt safe. "You are so not what I thought you'd be." He said.

She chuckled. "What did you think I'd be like?"

"Snobby rich bitch." He nuzzled her again and fell asleep in the space of a few breaths.

* * *

Dean swung Baby onto the interstate. "No more horse shit. No more mud. Gonna be nice, Sammy."

"Yeah," Sam said.

His brother looked over. "Are you actually sad?"

"No."

Dean looked at him again. "You _are_...you bummed about the girl?"

"No."

His brother grinned slyly. "You bang her the other night?"

Sam scrunched his nose. "What? NO."

"You did!" Dean smacked his brother's chest with the knuckles of his hand. "Proud of you, Sammy."

"I did not!" Sam's ears were turning red. "God, Dean. She had to go to work in like an hour."

"Don't take an hour, Sammy."

"Yeah," his brother snarked back. "With you it probably takes 3 minutes."

Dean snorted.

"I told you I'm not ready."

"You may think you're not but I bet _he_ does." Dean glanced meaningfully in the direction of Sam's crotch.

"Yeah, well, unlike certain people, HE doesn't make all my decisions for me." Sam paused, willing to throw the offensive position back at his brother. "Besides, I wasn't the one who stayed the rest of the night at Jeanette's and came out at noon."

" _Maaaybe._ You'll never know."

"Dean, she's older than Dad."

"Don't mean she ain't pretty." Dean paused, silent for a minute. "Do you mean that we just spent weeks in a barn full of horny women and neither of us got laid? I gotta be honest. I'm kinda ashamed."

Sam snorted. "Yeah." An unwilling smile crept across his face. "It is kind of funny. I mean should be like shooting fish in a barrel."

Dean settled into Baby's familiar contours and gave his brother a fond grin. "Where to now, Sammy?"

Sam shrugged. "Trail on Dad seems kinda dead right now."

Dean frowned. "Yeah... Hey you wanna go up to Syracuse, go see a game there? Hit one of the casinos nearby."

Sam bit his lip and nodded. "I guess." He sounded reticent but then he resolved himself and squared his shoulders, gave Dean a bright smile. "Yeah. Let's do that."

* * *

Dean was driving through Syracuse traffic, swearing as he switched lanes and finally got out onto the interstate again.

Sam busy with their father's journal. They'd gone over it a million times with a fine tooth comb, but it seemed to be their only hope.

"Really? Can't you just enjoy the nice night we had?" Dean asked. "You gotta start with that shit right away."

"I thought you wanted to find him as much as I do."

Dean quieted, checking his rear view in the darkness. "I do. I really do."

"Still don't know why he did this to us."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Again. We gotta do this again?"

Sam went quiet.

Dean's cell rang. He raised a dark eyebrow and fished it out of his pocket. He accepted the call. "Jeanette?"

He listened intently for a moment. Sam couldn't hear anything on the other end over Baby's growling engine.

Jeanette clearly had Dean's interest.

His face fell. "Yeah. Damn." He lapsed into brooding silence a moment. "Okay. Hang in there. We're comin' back."

He ended the call with a thumb against the red button, threw it across the seat into Sam's lap, and swerved onto the exit ramp, so that he could switch directions.

Sam looked at him in concern. "What...what happened?"

"We gotta go back, Sammy." Dean's voice was tight.

"Why, what's wrong?"

"We fucked up."

"Why what happened?" Sam was growing increasingly distressed. "Dean? ...Dean?"

Dean ran a hand over his mouth. "It came back. We missed something."

"What the hell."

"Sam...Leslie's dead."

 **TBC...**

 **Sorry, she liked Sam. It had to happen. Poor girl.**


	19. Chapter 19

_Dean ran a hand over his mouth. "It came back. We missed something."_

 _"What the hell."_

 _"Sam...Leslie's dead."_

* * *

Sam sat back in the seat, feeling all the air leave his lungs. "How?"

"Jeanette was kinda hysterical on the phone but it sounds like they found Leslie earlier this evening." He swallowed.

Sam was quiet. He closed his eyes.

"Dude, I'm sorry. We must have missed something."

"Was it the horse?" Sam's voice sounded thick. "Was it?"

"Yeah. Yeah it sounds like the horse." Dean's eyes tracked to Sam.

"She trusted us. I told her she was safe." Sam's voice was soft. He stared straight ahead.

"Yeah. Makes two of us." Dean observed Sam as if he were a time bomb. "Dude, you okay?"

"Yeah." Sam blinked.

"I'm sorry."

"The ectoplasm in Stranger's stall... We should've known it would be Leslie."

"Dude, we thought we killed it."

Sam put his forehead up against the passenger side window. "I jinx every women who comes near me."

Dean wrinkled his brow. "Dude, that's just stupid."

"Mom, Jess, her..."

"That's three. How many fucking women have you known, Dude?"

Sam shrugged.

"Yeah, that's my point. The others are all alive...come on, it's sad but let's not turn this into anything more than it needs to be, okay?"

Sam didn't answer. He was leaving oil smudges from his cheek on the glass. Dean let it slide.

Dean frowned at him. _"Okay?!"_

"Yeah." Came the listless reply. Another lapse of silence. This one a long, drawn out one. "I wish you'd never gotten me at Stanford."

Dean blinked back sudden tears as he held Baby's wheel.

* * *

Dean wandered the aisle looking for clues to Leslie's death. The wash stall had been strewn with yellow crime scene tape, the second death in as many months apparently having drawn interest from the police.

Jeanette couldn't be coaxed from the house. Dean was in professional mode, eager to find clues before they were cold and couldn't be bothered to hang around and console her.

The scene was bloody. Macabre hoof prints littered the concrete.

The horses were extremely agitated, snorting, kicking walls, pacing. Especially the stallion. Having scented blood, he seemed to be in fight mode, striking randomly at the walls and screaming challenges to an invisible opponent.

Sam was staring blankly at Handsome Stranger through the bars to his stall. Stranger was snuffling at him through the bars, oddly calm.

"I'm at a loss, Sammy." Dean said. I don't know what it could be attached to. Maybe a piece of tack we missed? I dunno."

"Sam?" Dean spared a glance.

His brother's shoulders were slumped, his neck bowed. The mop of bangs randomly in his eyes. His hands in his pockets.

"Sam. We're burning daylight here. Mind on the job, buddy."

Sam opened the horse's stall and walked in. Stranger nuzzled his carhartt jacket and Sam scratched between the horse's ears.

His gaze wandered down to the shavings. The ectoplasm was present there again, weeping in a syrupy mess on the shavings.

"Fresh ectoplasm." Sam was quiet for a second. "I think we should pay Ms. Channing of _Pine Farm_ a visit."

* * *

The boys pulled up to the Farm, with an attempt to look somewhat official. Dress shirts, ties, fake FBI badges. All the usual trappings of a Winchester charade.

When she saw them, Cathy Channing looked unimpressed. She reminded Dean of a girl's gym teacher in elementary school. "Weren't you two just here a while ago?"

"Unfortunately there's been another death." Sam put his hands in his pockets and tried to look official. He actually looked far too damn young to be FB-Anything.

She looked shocked. "What? Where?"

"The neighboring farm. Jeanette Freeford's place." Dean chimed in.

"Shouldn't you be bothering _her_ then?" She started fiddling with the water spigot in one of the walls.

"Mrs. Channing, we have knowledge that you are related to the original owner of these properties. An Ichabod Stevenson." Sam attempted, trying to deepen his voice a little, possibly to sound older.

For once, her bitchy demeanor transformed into being perplexed. "What does that have to do with anything? He's been dead for like 100 years."

"Please answer the questions, m'am." Dean put in with all the authority he could muster.

"You know what? Maybe you can talk to my lawyer."

"M'am please. We'd just like a little history on the place." Sam abandoned tough and official and seemed to be going the route of puppy dog, suddenly all soft eyes and placating voice.

She seemed to take the bait. "Who was killed?"

"Leslie Carone."

For the first time, a little emotion cracked her surface. "I've known Leslie since she was a child. She used to ride up here before the other two farms were built. I sold her her horse. She was a good girl."

"Yeah," Sam said with feeling. "She was."

Dean stomped on his foot.

Too late, she caught the remark. "You knew her?"

"I mean," Sam amended, scrambling to come up with a lie, "everyone we've talked to has told us the same thing. She was a nice girl."

"Why do you need to know anything about the original owner of the property?"

"Honestly, we're just grasping at straws. Trying to research anything we can. Please help us."

She hesitated, sighed. "Ichabod was my great, great uncle. Very colorful character. He ran a horse trading business on the property a long time ago." She started to wind up a hose as she spoke. "From what I know he had a lot of arrests. He liked to drink a lot and get into fights. I mean all I know is stories and rumors at this point.

He had a wife and two children. Did not sound like a model husband. His wife died fairly young...oddly enough I heard she was killed by her own horse."

"Do you know how?" Dean asked, eyes searching the aisle for anything amiss.

She shrugged. "I'm not sure. Heard it was gruesome though. She didn't get tossed...she got...trampled." She paused "Weird, huh, that that's what keeps happening. Almost like a curse. I never even connected it. Haven't heard stories about him since I was a kid."

The boys shot each other a glance.

She put her hands on her hips. You two aren't FBI." She pointed to Sam. "He looks like he's barely out of high school. So you want to level with me as to what's going on here."

Sam shifted uneasily from one foot to the other, clearly waiting for Dean to come up with some line of bullshit. When Dean had none he looked back at her and said, "We hunt ghosts."

Dean and Cathy Channing both stared at Sam, dumbfounded for separate reasons.

"Run that buy me again?" She said.

Dean gave a nervous smile. "What my partner meant to say is-"

"We hunt ghosts." Sam said. "I'm sick of lying, Dean." He fixed his brother with a pointed glare.

"I'm fairly certain impersonating FBI is a federal offense." Cathy's dark eyes narrowed angrily. "You boys need to get off my property."

"Great Sam, get us arrested."

"No." Sam said. "Look, someone I really care about is dead and I'm tired of stalling and faking and the charade. I need to stop this before it happens again. If you don't believe us, my brother has Jeanette Freeford's number on his phone. We can dial her and you can talk to her. But we need information and we need it now."

Cathy Channing put her hands on her hips. "Get off my property, I'm calling the cops."

Sam grabbed Dean's cell out of his pocket, ignoring the startled protest of his big brother. He scrolled to Jeanette's name and hit _dial_ then handed the phone to a stunned Cathy.

* * *

Cathy handed the boys over the deeds to the property. Sam sat in her office, his height dwarfing the little antique chair he sat on. He wiped an arm across the dust on the surface of the old desk, ignoring the smear it left on his dress shirt and took the oversized paper, yellow and fraying. He thumbed back through the pages carefully, to not damage the parchment and studied the layout of the property.

The original blue prints of the barn and surrounding lots.

He traced his thumb along the creek bed. "So this is where the creek used to be."

"Yes. I don't remember it having water in my day, except after a good rain but you can obviously see the bed."

"That's where the horse bones were." He said to Dean, who stood leaning over his shoulder. He traced a finger over it. "Cathy, any reason why Ichabod would dump horse bodies there?"

She shrugged. "They're sort of big to transport once they're dead. So he probably took the ill or old lame ones out there and shot them. Just didn't want them rotting in the pastures, I'd guess."

Sam nodded and traced his finger up the page. "There is where the trailer is." He slid it across. "There's Jeanette's house." Then farther to the right. "Here is the barn." Was there anything on the property before any of this was built?" He paused and squinted at the paper, noticing a faint shading near his estimation of where _Babbling Brook Equestrian Centre_ now stood. "What is that?"

"I think that was the family grave plot. I remember a headstone or two there."

Dean's eyes went wide. "They built the stable OVER the family cemetery?"

"No," Cathy corrected. "It's next to it. There were only few stones. I think Ichabod and his wife and kids."

"Are the headstones still there?" Sam asked, starting to wonder.

She shrugged. "Maybe. Ask Jeanette. It's miles away, I never go out there really."

Sam pressed his fingers to his forehead. "Dean are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

Dean blinked. "That my ass hurts and I want a hamburger."

Sam gave him a bitch face. "Yeah that's exactly what I'm thinking. I'm serious. I think this whole thing isn't the horse at all."

"What? Sam, we saw Ghost Biscuit with our own eyes."

"It don't think it's acting alone"

"It has horse sidekicks?"

"No." Sam stood up. "I think it's connected to a person."

Dean blinked dumbly, not following Sam's train of thought. "What? How"

"Look, someone dies wrongfully-vengeful spirit, right?"

"Yeah," Dean said. "Horse died pretty wrongfully, dude."

"Yeah, but Dean, so did Ichabod's wife."

"So she's trampled to death by her damn horse and is bound to it? Something doesn't sound right in that scenario to me."

"But there's a ton of lore with the victim and the killer being bound."

"Yeah but that's not as kill buddies, that's more like being caught in a loop to reenact the murder every year." Dean countered.

Cathy was standing near them, arms crossed, eyebrow raised as she listened to them throw crazy theories around like they were normal.

Sam knitted his brows together. "Yeah." He scratched the back of his head. "We may just have missed something the horse was attached to."

Cathy wrinkled her nose. "Attached to something?"

"Ghosts will cling to certain objects that hold their energy. Something it was attached to in life. Clothing, jewelry..."

"A lock of hair..." Dean cut in. "The corpse itself."

"We took care of the horse's remains and its shoes." Sam explained.

"Took care of?" Cathy tucked a lock of short brown hair behind her ear.

"Burned." Dean said in his usual non-diplomatic way. "Horses don't have clothes or jewelry." He added as an afterthought.

"No." Sam replied. "But they have tack. Cathy, do you have any original saddles or bridles, bits, anything like that on the property?"

"Oh there are tons scattered around. Sometimes dried pieces of leather...sometimes a rusty old bit." She shrugged. "Not all in one place. Could be scattered anywhere, really."

"Great." Dean shook his head and leaned against the wall. "Just frigging great."

Sam took a picture of the deed with his cell phone.

"Do you have any other things, Cathy? Pictures, old newspapers? Anything that might help us find out more about Ichabod."

She thought for a few minutes. "Some of this structure is original to the property. There's old stuff up in the hay loft above this barn. I never use it. I store the hay down here. It's really rotted and treacherous up there though so if you do look be careful. Don't need you breaking your asses and then suing."

"Your concern for our safety is touching." Dean mumbled.

"Boy, you're lucky I haven't called the cops on you."

"Dean," Sam warned. "Cool it, man. We'll take a look and then leave. Thank you for the help."

* * *

Sam climbed up the half-rotted ladder. He felt a splinter slide into his hand and swore, kicking loose old dust and cobwebs with each rung.

"You okay, Sammy?" Dean called from below, holding the ladder steady

"I'm fine." Sam said, pausing as he felt a rung give precariously under his foot. "This ladder doesn't like my weight."

He gave a huff to clear his nose of the dust and started up again, finally reaching the top and pulling himself through a hole then settling his shoes on the wooden platform.

He pulled out his flashlight and shone it around the room. It smelled of must and old stale hay.

In fact there was still old hay up here. Probably decades old. The dust was everywhere and the cobwebs had cobwebs. Dust motes danced through the beam of his flashlight as Sam took took a hesitant step. The board creeked under his foot.

He took another step, felt the board sag under his weight and he danced off of it to a more secure position.

He shone his light around again and continued his mincing way around the space.

There was was a host of very old rusted tools. Some so old that the wooden handles had mostly rotted away and only the iron heads remained.

-An old shovel, an old pitch fork.

Sam thought about the raw ripped open skin on the horse's chest and thought to a himself that an old pitchfork like this would be his prime suspect as the weapon that inflicted that injury.

A bit of old cloth caught his eye in a corner where the dust seemed to have been disturbed. He moved closer and caught the whiff of ozone.

Something supernatural had been up here recently. He bent down and his fingers closed around the blue fabric.

Dust fell through the spaces in the floor boards onto the concrete stable below. An old rusty nail went tumbling through and he could hear it ping against the concrete below him.

He'd almost pulled up the fabric thing when the floor board cracked beneath him and part of his leg went through the floor.

He yelped and pulled himself out as the blue fabric fell through the hole.

He swore, watching it plunge down far too quickly to not be wrapped around something heavy. It hit below with with a thump that sounded like a book.

"Dude, you okay?" Dean yelled up.

"I'm fine. I'm heading back down."

Sam breathed a relieved sigh as he put his foot on the floor and got off the ladder. "I'm not doing that again."

"Should've let me go up, I'm lighter than you are."

Sam hated to admit it but Dean was right. "Next time," he acquiesced.

Sam wandered through the barn to find where he'd almost busted through.

It wasn't hard to spot. Besides the Sam foot sized hole in the ceiling, there was a pile of old ratty hay, dust, and the dirty blue fabric he'd found.

It was lying just to the left of the wash stall.

Sam bent over and picked up the bag as Dean stood behind him.

It did indeed contain contain a book.

Sam pulled it out, it was tattered and leather bound with yellowed parchment paper. It was a journal.

Dean took the fabric bag and ran it through his fingers, trying to place where he'd seen it before.

"Well I think this is her journal, Dean."

"I've seen this before." Dean said, messing with the fabric. His dress loafer slid on one of the old nails. He swore, and suddenly he remembered his first investigation at Pine Farm.

He remembered searching this very wash stall and seeing an old nail in the corner. He glanced sideways and it was still there.

He looked down at the nail under the heel of his shoe and noted that it was the same kind.

He dug into his pocket and pulled out the fabric he'd placed in it the last time he'd worn this suit.

It was just a small ripped square of blue that he'd found and pocketed. It matched the bag that held the journal.

"Sammy someone had been rooting in that hay loft last time we were here. This bag matches the fabric I picked up near the wash stall a few weeks ago."

Sam tore his eyes away from the book. "Not someone...something. I could smell ozone in the attic."

"So it was trying to get that journal, I'm guessing."

"Yeah." Sam said. "I think it was. I think Sara Stevenson was trying to get to the journal of Sara Stevenson."

 _tbc. Special thanks to Captain Monter Masher who came up with the epithet of Ghost Biscuit. Thank you to everyone who left feedback in the last chapter. Captain Monster Masher, Irreality, Mariamo, HakSem, iwokeuponthewrongsideoflife, Wunjo, and my Guest Reviewer. You guys make my day. :) If you're new to the party please drop me a line. :)_


	20. Chapter 20

Sam rode shotgun in Baby, his nose buried in this journal rather than in his father's journal for once. The window was cracked and the breeze ruffled his hair.

"Life in the 1800s was fascinating. I mean just eating was a big deal. Canning your own food and killing your own meat."

"Sam."

"What?"

"I don't care."

"Oh." Sam went silent, acting a little hurt. Then went back to reading.

"So we have a ghost trying to get her own journal?" Dean tapped his thumb against the steering wheel. "Like...why?"

Sam was still reading but he answered anyway. "Journals are where we keep our most private thoughts. The spirit might be pretty attached. Especially if it's not ready to let go."

"Well, anything private in there or is she just talking about the canning methods of the 1800s?"

"Well, this wasn't a happy marriage. Ichabod didn't treat her very well, I don't think..." Sam put a thumb in the page he was reading and looked at Dean. "Looks like he slapped her around a bit."

"Shocker." Dean replied dismissively. "Any Dude that does that to a horse has a temper. Although if something trampled my wife I'd probably take a baseball bat to it myself."

Sam looked at him in horror.

Dean caught the expression. "Dude, what?"

Sam shook his head. "You're a jerk."

"Dude, it _trampled_ his wife."

"I'm not even arguing with you. Nevermind."

Dean shrugged. "It's all fun and games until someone takes a hoof to the face...and chest...and head..and..."

"I get the picture." Sam shook his head again, silently radiating his disapproval across the car.

He was good at that, Dean noted. So was their father. Except when John Fucking Winchester disapproved of something, Dean's first reaction was wanting to piss himself. But man, those tense moments of his father driving, not saying anything, radiating disapproval were the worst.

He missed him.

"Hey, listen to this...I mean the guy got dozens of horses in and out through his door every month. Horse trader, so kind of like a horse used car salesman, you know?" Sam looked up to make sure his brother was following him. Dean had his eyebrow cocked in inquisitive concentration, so he was paying attention. "So anyway, he gets in this horse she calls Reilly. She falls in love with it."

"And..."

"And it's a big BLACK horse."

"Ghostbiscuit?"

"My money is on that." Sam flipped through the yellowed parchment, skimming the words with the eased practice of someone who had done way too much reading in college. "She really loved that thing. Had it for several years too. Sounds like a nice horse..." he paused. "Kinda weird it would suddenly trample her to death."

"Animals do weird unpredictable shit." Dean countered. "They really do. Pretzels!"

"What?" Sam asked, wrinkling his forehead.

Dean pointed at an _Auntie Anne's Pretzels_ sign. "Dude, _so_ good."

Sam shook his head, certain that Dean hadn't noticed his own irony. "This seems so out of character for that horse," he continued. "It's like Lassie suddenly eating Timmy."

Dean smirked. "Now _THAT_ I would watch."

"Of course you would."

"What is it Lassie? Timmy fell down the well? ... what? You pushed him? _Why girl, why?_!" Dean bellowed.

Sam snorted.

"Ooo. What if Lassie is a ghost now and she wanders the MGM lot peeing on cars?"

"He." Sam replied absently.

"She. Dude, Lassie was a girl. Hence the friggin' name."

"Lassie was actually played by a male dog named Pal and later his offspring, Pal Junior." Sam replied factually, pissing on Dean's long held illusion.

"What? My entire childhood has been a lie!" Dean was on a roll with the melodrama.

Sam looked at him suspiciously. "When did you watch Lassie, like _ever?_ "

"It was on reruns on _Nickelodeon_ , don't you remember? Course not, you were too busy sucking your thumb and shitting your pants." Dean eyed him evilly. "Some things never change, huh, Sammy?"

"Shut up, jerk."

Dean hit him in the back of the head. "Bitch."

Sam punched him in the arm. "Jerk!"

* * *

They pulled into _Babbling Brook Equestrian Center_ as the sun was beginning to head westward. The slant of the rays were picturesque against the blue sky, limning the landscape in golden light. The fall leaves glorious, hiding what darkness had happened here.

They both went inside the trailer, tore themselves out of their dress clothes in record time and were back outside within within a few minutes.

Sam pulled up the picture of the deed on his cell phone and started wandering around the perimeter of the building searching for the approximate location of the gravestones.

Dean ducked into the stable and almost slammed into Chelsea who was leaving.

They paused an awkward moment and looked at each other.

"You told us we were _safe."_ It came out as an accusation.

"I thought you were."

"Well you were wrong and now my friend..." he was expecting her to dissolve into tears but she seemed to be hanging onto the anger fairly well.

He bit his lip. "I didn't know."

She barged past him and he felt a stir of self-defensive anger. He'd _tried,_ dammit. He and Sam had risked their fucking lives for no pay to help these people. Yeah they'd fucked up, but they'd TRIED at least.

He sat down on a hay bale outside of the stallion's stall and put his head in his hands. His heavy brass amulet swung from its leather thong.

The chestnut poked his big head out of his stall door and nuzzled Dean's shoulder. Dean looked up in surprise. "Hey, Lionel."

Lionel lipped at his spiky hair. Dean pushed him away a little. "Hey. Watch the merchandise, buddy."

He patted the solid neck. It gave a satisfying thump under his palm. Warm and solid and real. Not cold and transparent and dead.

He heard footsteps from the office, he glanced toward the sound and saw Jeanette descend the old stairs.

She looked tired and stressed. Her eyes red rimmed like she'd been crying.

He looked up at her through his dark lashes. "How you holding up?"

She stopped, shrugged. "It's hard. Two of my girls, Dean. In the space of two months. I can't help but feel it's something I've done. I never should have built this stable."

Dean stood up and pulled her into his embrace. He nuzzled her auburn hair, felt her small frame shake underneath him.

"Sammy and I...we're gonna fix it."

"How? You can't bring back my girls."

"No." He fell quiet. "We can make sure no one else gets hurt."

"The irony is..." She looked up at him, looking very frail in her naked vulnerability. "I found that old horse shoe on the property right where we were going to break ground to build. I picked it up and kept it for good luck." She started to cry again.

Dean wasn't good at dealing with emotional displays. "Jeanette, do you know anything about a family cemetery on this land?"

She pulled away and furrowed her immaculately shaped eyebrow. "There was a cemetery here?" Her little nose was red.

"Just a plot of land with the Stevensons buried here," he explained.

"I don't think so." She sniffed, trying to collect herself.

"Dean." Sam's tenor split the air.

Dean responded immediately, giving Jeanette's shoulder a pat and walking down the hall to meet Sam. "What?"

"Come here." Sam motioned for him to follow. They walked out side and rounded to the side of the barn. The grass was lush and a little over grown, and dotted with leaves. Sam brushed some aside with his foot. "See that?"

Dean squinted. "A rock?"

"Nope," Sam went to his knees and started to clear the debris away. It was a flat stone, and most of it was covered with grass and soil.

Sam dug under the grass with his fingers, started to pull it back. And within a few seconds Dean realized that the shape was rectangular and it clicked into his head what it must be.

A grave marker. A flat stone grave marker, completely sunken and over grown, almost like the ground itself had tried to swallow it up. To drag it back into itself.

He bent his knees and looked closer. "Is there a name?"

"Ichabod Stevenson. -Do you realize what is on the other side of this wall?" Sam rapped on the side of the barn.

Dean took a stab. "A horse?"

"Handsome Stranger's stall. Sara Stevenson's grave has to be near her husband's. Side by side, right?"

"Yeah."

"So I don't see it anywhere, which means..."

"It's under the stall." Dean finished. "The ectoplasm is in his stall because that's where she manifests."

"Bingo." Sam stood up. "We need to get Stranger out of that stall, pull up the floor mats and pray that there's dirt and not concrete under them."

"I _knew_ animals didn't leave ectoplasm." Dean said victoriously. "I told you."

"You told me that animals don't have souls. Which I believe Ghost Horse has proven wrong."

Dean bit his lip, unhappy with the ramifications this had on his hamburger consumption. "Yeah, whatever."

* * *

Sam groaned as he tried to pull the giant black stall mat loose. It was custom fit, several inches thick and weighed a ton.

Stranger stood locked in the indoor ring, out of the way of shovels and grave digging. He poked his head over the gate and watched them interestedly.

"Fuck," Sam whispered, "these mats are heavy."

"What are you boys doing?" Jeanette strode over and looked through the bars at Sam. She calmly took in the sight for the space of a few breaths. She cocked an eyebrow and looked at Dean. "Darling, why are you and your brother tearing apart my stall?"

Dean squinted in the dim light. The sun had set fully outside and the barn lights were not the best.

"Is there dirt or concrete under here, Jeanette?"

She stared at him for a moment and then replied. "I left them dirt so that the concrete doesn't crack and shift in the winter and make them uneven."

"Thank god. Dean give me a hand here, please?" Sam was bent over trying to pry the mat up.

Dean dove in and helped Sam peel the heavy rigid rubber flooring off the ground. It smelled like shavings and manure. _Wonderful._ Something that looked like horse urine left a wet spot as it brushed his thigh. _  
_

"We think that this part of the stables is built over Sara Stevenson's grave marker." Dean grunted, trying to heft part of the mat with his shoulder. Shavings fell into his hair and he shook them off in annoyance.

"But there were no headstones."Jeanette protested.

"There were," Sam said, steadying part of the mat against the wall. "They're very small paupers type grave markers. Easy to overlook. They seem like stones and they're half grown into the lawn by now."

He started to pry up the other one, his hands covered in dirt.

"Sam, don't bother," Dean was kicking at the soil near the horse's water bucket in the approximate location of the ectoplasm.

Sam gratefully dropped the segment of mat and it poofed dust everywhere. Dean choked. "Thanks, dude."

He wiped his eyes and pointed to the floor.

Sam could see the smallest appearance of a light-colored flat stone there. He dropped to his knees and began to dig the ground up with his fingertips. He could see the very faded markings on the stone.

 _S-A..._

"Yeah. This is it."

"We need to get the shovels, the salt, some lighter fluid." Dean said.

"You're not starting a fire in my barn!" Jeanette exclaimed, eyes wide. "My horses!"

"We can keep it controlled." Dean assured. "We can- " he was flung off his feet by something and slammed into a wall.

He took the blow with his shoulder, bouncing off of the pine stall boards before he went to his knees.

Jeanette and Sam both yelled "Dean" instinctively as he went careening sideways.

The lights began to flicker, off on, off on, the sockets making an ominous humming sound.

Sam reacted first, pulling his brother to his feet.

"Bitch isn't gonna make it easy." Dean spat.

The horses exploded into a squealing panic, Stranger's hooves thudding as he tore wildly around the indoor ring.

Sara Stevenson flickered into view over Sam's shoulder. Her face was a mottled collection of purple and blue bruises on the left side. Her head on the left crushed partially in... Pieces of scalp and hair torn away.

She knitted her dark brows together. Her skin was pale and grey in death. Next to her feet, traces of ectoplasm began to bubble.

Sam held his hands out before him. "Hey." He said softly. "Sara, can you hear me?"

Her face started to contort in rage. Her eyes pulled focus on Sam. "You killed me," she whispered.

"Ummm, no." Sam started to back up a pace toward the stall door.

She followed him. "You," she snarled.

"No, not me."

"You killed him. Killed us both."

Sam backed farther, the smell of ozone making his nose burn. "I don't..."

Sara's hand rose up and she grabbed Sam by the throat.

He nearly had time to react before Jeanette swung a shovel at the apparition's head and it disappeared under the iron spade like so much smoke.

The older woman blinked, her auburn bun suddenly unwinding tendrils of hair. "What happened?"

"Thanks." Sam panted.

Dean was already springing to action and dashing outside.

Jeanette paused. "Where is he..."

"For supplies." Sam said, taking her sleeve and pulling her to him. "Stay close."

He took the shovel from her hands and held it like a staff, ready for another onslaught.

Baby's engine growled to life and Dean swung her into the mouth of the barn, floodlights on to illuminate the dim space.

She screeched to a halt and Dean was out again, grabbing things out of the back faster than Jeanette could comprehend what was going on.

The other horses had calmed down but the stallion was still screaming his rage and slamming his steel shod hooves into the walls of his prison.

Sam gave his brother a nod and jogged back into the stall and started digging, spraying the wall with dirt as he tossed aside shovelful after shovelful.

Dean motioned Jeanette over.

She walked to him, a little shaky on her feet. He handed her a sawed-off shotgun. "You know how to use one of these?"

Her eyes were wide. "No."

He pumped it once and handed it to her. "It's got salt rounds in here. You see her, aim and fire. The spray should hit even if your aim isn't good. Be careful of the kick back."

She looked utterly confused. "Dean..." the weight of the weapon surprised her and she almost dropped it.

"Hey." Dean grabbed her arm, helping her get used to the weight. "I need you to man up here."

He paused, realizing he sounded vaguely ridiculous. "Cowgirl up," he amended. "We're in danger until we burn that damn thing. I don't want you hurt."

He guided her closer to where Sam was digging, their progress punctuated by an enraged Lionel. "What is with that horse?"

"He's a stallion," she said. "His instinct is to fight to protect his herd."

Dean grunted an acknowledgement, thought once more about why stallions sucked, grabbed a large canister of rock salt and began to pour a circle on the floor. "You stand in here. And don't come out. Be safe." He said as he sealed the circle and kissed her cheek.

He stashed the canister and lighter fluid next to Stranger's stall and grabbed a shovel to join Sam.

"Friggin rocky ground," Sam bitched, throwing another shovelful of dirt over his shoulder.

"Yeah," Dean agreed, feeling a stone under the point of his shovel head. "Well I guess our Sara theory panned out."

Sam snorted. "My friggin back is killing me. I'm not a fan of speed digging."

" _Your_ back," Dean grumbled. "My ass is on fire right now. Bitch helped a lot with throwing me into the wall just now."

"Boys..." Jeanette called tentatively. "Boys. _Boys!"_

Dean jerked his head up and saw the apparition of Ghostbiscuit at the far end of the aisle, standing near Baby.

It pawed the aisle, ignoring the challenge Lionel neighed to it.

Jeanette had gone pale. Her hand was shaking.

"Stay in the circle," Dean ordered.

The horse reared, nostrils flared as it scented Jeanette, snorting a spray of blood and foam as it tossed its head. Some of the spray landed on the Impala behind it as it whirled.

"That fucking glue bag better not kick my car!" Dean yelled.

The horse, Reilly, Dean supposed, cantered toward Jeanette who tried to stand her ground, although the terror was plain on her face.

"Stay in the circle," Dean ordered, pulling his pistol out of the back of his pants.

"Come on, flea bag." He took aim, pulled the trigger and shot through the apparition. It flickered a second and then kept going, its head suddenly turned toward Dean.

"Sam. Sam we have a problem. The fucking thing is stronger."

Sam stopped digging and looked up. The lights began to flicker again.

The horse charged to the edge of the salt line and slid to a stop as if it had slammed into an invisible wall.

Jeanette cried out and stepped back.

"Stay in the circle. It can't hurt you in the circle!" Dean barked with all the authority he could muster. He emptied another round into the horse, it barely flickered.

He stepped out onto the concrete, eyes hard, shoulders squared. Looking every bit a western gun hand gone to meet his fate.

The horse charged him.

He backed up a careful step, took aim, backed again and tripped over the salt canister he'd left outside the stall. He went down hard on his back, his head smacking the concrete.

"Dean!" Jeanette and Sam yelled again.

The horse was on his prone form and Jeanette pulled the trigger. The rock salt round exploded, the horse disappeared as Jeanette was thrown off her feet into the wall by the kickback.

Sam grabbed the doorway and bolted out into the aisle, dashing for his brother.

His hands grabbed the front of Dean's jacket. "Hey. Dean. Buddy."

He was out cold.

The lights flickered again and the smell of ozone hit Sam's nose like a wave.

He stood up, whirled around in time to see Sara of the tattered dress and disfigured face pacing toward him. "You killed him! You killed us both." She snarled again.

Sam held his shovel up, ready to strike.

"Who?" He yelled trying to get through. "I didn't kill anyone!"

"Liar!"

Jeanette moaned and Sara's head snapped to the side. "Her! It was _her_ fault! He'd have never..." She swung back to Sam, her eyes looking through him. "She made you! It was her doing!"

"I don't know what you're talking about!" Sam said desperately. "My name is Sam Winchester. I'm here to help you."

"You killed him!" She yelled again.

Sam shook his head. "No. I'm here to help you."

She paused, her eyes tracking down to Sam's coat pocket. "My journal." It was the first thing she'd said that made any sense and didn't hold the simmering rage behind it.

Sam pulled it out. "Yeah." He said. "What do you need me to read in here, Sara? How can I help you?"

"Give it. " Her face grew hard again as she approached. "It's mine."

Sam had the ridiculous image thought of Gollum hissing my _preciousss_ flit through his mind as he held the journal in one hand. Dean and his pop culture references were slowly polluting his brain.

"Sara." He said clearly. "Tell me how to help."

Her haggard features pulled into an expression of anger. "You killed me."

"I..." Sam paused, realizing she wasn't seeing him at all. Someone else. Her killer.

His eyes took in the gory wounds again, noticed that they didn't resemble injuries consistent being trampled.

"Who killed you? Not Reilly."

 _"Reilly loves me!"_ She shrieked so loudly that Sam almost jumped.

"Okay."

She lunged for him and Sam swung the shovel at her head. The iron made contact with her and she disappeared in a white vapor.

Sam couldn't help but notice that his shovel connected at the same spot where her skull had been bashed in.

He stood panting in the silence, heard Dean groan and went down next to him. "Dean. Come on, buddy."

His brother stirred again and then seemed to pass out once more.

Sam pulled out his cell, pondering whether he should call an ambulance but the battery was completely drained, making the decision for him.

The lights flickered again. Sam dove for the shot gun, lying at Jeanette's side, and his fingers closed on it just at Sara Stevenson's hands pushed at him.

He flew backward, through the crime scene tape and smacked his head against the wash stall wall hard enough to stun him for for a second.

He pumped the shotgun and fired a blast at her.

She disappeared and the world went black.

 **tbc... Thanks to my reviewers! Capt. MM, Kirsten, Colby's Girl, Mariamo, Wunjo, my guest reviewer (I love you too!). I feel like I'm missing someone, but if I did, I appreciate you too. I just can't remember my own name anymore.  
**


	21. Chapter 21

Sam woke up freezing on the concrete floor. He had the sensation of lost time and an awful feeling of being disoriented before he figured out where he was.

Jeanette had her hand on his bicep. He lifted his head to look at her with a groan. "Sweetheart, are you okay?"

Sam blinked. "Yeah. Yeah I think. How long was I out?"

Jeanette frowned, the small lines around her mouth deepening a little. "I don't know, the kickback of the gun stunned me. I wasn't out, but I don't remember much and couldn't seem to move for a bit. Think it was partly fear."

Her hands moved to his scalp.

Sam hissed.

"You're going to have a bruise there."

Sam pulled himself up, she supported his back a little. "Your brother is still out. I'm worried about him."

Sam felt a prick of concern. "Me too."

He stood up, grabbed the journal lying on the floor, shoved it back into his pocket and staggered to Dean.

"Dean?" Sam patted his cheek.

Dean eyes fluttered a little. "Wha?"

"Can you get up?"

His eyes slid shut again.

Sam crouched down with no small degree of effort and picked his very heavy brother up in his arms. Dean unconscious was a tricky lift, it felt like hauling up a 180 pound, ill-balanced sack of potatoes. One with long legs that wanted to trip Sam and slide out of his grip. He finally got him up and Dean's head lolled limply into his chest.

"We need to get out of here... Jeanette, can we use your house?"

"Of course."

* * *

Dean awoke on Jeanette's couch. Sam was sitting on the cream love seat across from him, holding a bag of frozen peas to his own head.

Jeanette knelt next to Dean and her face swam into focus. It was concerned. "Darling."

"Y..yeah?" He cleared his throat, feeling a bit muzzy.

"Honey, you were out for about an hour." She held up her fingers. "How many do I have up?"

Dean went cross-eyed a second before he could focus and croaked. "Three."

"Where are you?"

His eyes drifted shut a moment. "New York. Your place."

"I wanted to take you to the hospital but your brother seems against it."

Dean's eyes came open. "Yeah, no hospitals."

"But a blow to the back of the head like this...you losing consciousness."

"Taken a lot of knocks to the head, honey. And passing out for this long probably has as much to do with the paranormal as it does with the bump." He swallowed a wave of nausea and didn't bother to sit up. "Everyone safe and alive?" He grumbled.

"More or less." Sam shifted his pack of peas. "I think you need to tell everyone the barn is closed for today until Dean and I can get back in there to take care of it."

Jeanette seemed apprehensive. "The boarders will throw a fit."

"Well, they need to be out well before sunset. Dean and I need to finish that grave digging. I'd prefer to do it when it's not friggin' dark. And I don't want anyone else killed." Sam could sound quite authoritative when he wanted to. It always amazed Dean.

His head hurt fiercely. "Do you have anything in can take for this?"

"Tylenol." Jeanette offered

"Screw Tylenol. We are past over the counter. I need the good shit. Sammy? The car?"

"Might be some of Dad's old Vicodin prescriptions back there." Sam mumbled, shifting the peas. He started to read the journal again.

"What happened after I passed out. Why are we not all dead?"

"She kept saying that I killed her and that Jeanette made me. And that I killed HIM. I don't know who him is. I..." Sam paused. It was confusing. "I think she wasn't seeing who I was. She thought I was someone else."

Dean cleared his throat. "Common enough. Spirit caught in a Traumatic loop."

"She could interact though, so it wasn't a residual thing. She wanted this journal really badly."

He held it up, shook it.

"I shot her with rock salt as she pushed me and I passed out." Sam continued. "Dean, I got a real good look at her and I'm positive that her wounds weren't caused by any _horse_ trampling her."

Even through his painful haze, Dean perked up. "Then what?"

"I think someone beat her to death with something like a shovel. And judging by the angle of the wounds, I'd put money on a big guy like me."

"Yeah?" Dean said with interest. "So Secretariat was framed?"

Sam nodded, then immediately wished he hadn't and gritted his teeth. "Ugh. Yeah. I think maybe Ichabod did it. I keep seeing that he had a temper in this journal. Their relationship was volatile. Domestic abuse cases aren't treated with the seriousness they should be _now_. Back then, I mean, she was just property. Every bit as much as that horse was."

Jeanette was in Dean's face, gently tucking an ice pack behind his head. Her fingers prodded his neck, up near the base of his skull. He groaned as she gently worked a few knots loose. His nausea eased abruptly.

"God, I need to take you on cases with me. You're like an instant cure all." He mumbled.

She kissed his forehead. Dean felt a warm fondness settle in his chest for a moment before he pushed it down. "Okay, so her husband killed her and ghost horse is tied to her."

"Yeah." Sam was watching Dean with a bemused expression.

Dean scowled. "What?"

His brother smiled fondly at him. "Nothing."

"Yeah sure. You don't get that doofy look for no reason."

"You're the doof." Sam replied with a groan, barely having the steam to verbally spar with his brother.

Jeanette took pity on him and settled her hands on the back of Sam's shoulders.

He stiffened in surprise. "Relax, sweetheart."

He raised his brows, but his jaw was still tight.

"Sammy, she has magic fingers, let her help man."

Sam felt her start to knead at the tightness under his skin with a rolling motion until the muscles gave a little, then she moved up his neck to the back of his head and her fingers felt near the base of his skull. "Deep breath through your nose, Sam." He complied and she put a little pressure. He felt something pop and give.

The motion surprised him and he gave a little gasp and dropped the journal, instinctively grabbed at it. He heard a page rip.

"Easy." She patted his shoulder. "Feel any better?"

Sam rolled his head. "Yeah. Yeah, thanks." He blinked, having lost his entire train of thought.

He brought the journal up to look at it. "Shit I tore the spine and cover," he lamented.

His hand traced over the inside cover where the paper had torn away. He paused, squinted. "Wait." He picked at the inside cover with his nail.

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Dude, you're gonna destroy what's left."

"No," Sam said. "There's something hidden under the inside cover."

He picked at it again and finally pulled out several small sheets of paper folded in half. He looked at it. His jaw dropped a little.

"Well. I think I know why Ichabod killed her." He fanned the sheets out at Dean. "These are _love_ letters."

* * *

Dean sat up. "Love letters?"

"Yeah." Sam raised an eyebrow, looking so damn young, but Dean could see the wheels turning at a hundred miles an hour in his head. He knew Sam was synthesizing something as he read.

"These are made out to her from a Gerard." He nodded to himself. "Well, this is why she wanted the journal, no doubt. Her lover's letters were in here."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Smart woman. Cheat on the dude with the temper. Because that's gonna turn out well."

Jeanette still stood over Sam's shoulder. "Well, she probably wasn't planning on being caught, darling."

"They're always caught." Dean countered. "Someone has to fuck it up and let it slip at some point."

"It's hard to be in a marriage where someone doesn't love you." She dropped her eyes to the fancy script on the note paper and Sam handed it to her after he read it.

"And here is how he found out..." Sam began to read the paper left in his possession aloud. "My dearest love-Paula has found out about my indiscretions. She has threatened to tell your husband about our trysts."

He locked eyes with Dean and continued, each word weighted meaningfully. " _I love you more than the world, dear, and I fear I cannot keep you safe."_

Dean's mouth quirked up at the corner. "Awww. Sammy. You love me more than the world?" He shifted and groaned. "You're doing a shitty job keeping me safe though."

Sam huffed. "So did Gerard here, apparently."

Sam tapped his finger to his lip thoughtfully. "So...wife has an affair. Ichabod finds out and beats her to death. Maybe he killed the horse too..." he stopped, recollecting Sara's words. "' _You_ killed him?' Maybe Gerard was murdered too?"

"Fuck no. I don't wanna hear it. We don't need three vengeful spirits. This case is bullshit."

Jeanette sat down next to Dean. The couch dipped with her weight. "So Sara is angry at the wife for blowing the whistle on the affair. Paula must have told Ichabod, which got her killed." She hesitated, and Dean saw her eyes light with a realization. "THAT is why she said it was my fault. She thought I was Paula. Maybe she thinks all the girls she kills are Paula." Jeanette closed her eyes. Her jaw tight. She swallowed. "My poor Leslie."

"She doesn't technically seem to kill them. They're definitely trampled by the horse...I mean just look at the mess." Dean paused, the thought dawning on him after the words had left his mouth that this was probably a sensitive subject and he'd just said it like a callous asshole. He was good at that.

He looked at her. She had her eyes closed, a tear slipped down her cheek.

He looked up at Sam and saw that he looked vaguely emotional himself.

"Ummm. Yeah. Anyway..." he paused. "So we gotta dig the bitch up and salt and burn and see what happens from there."

Sam stood up. "I gotta hit the library to see what happened to Gerard."

"Don't you so much as scratch my Baby."

"I know how to drive, Dean. Jesus."

"I mean it. I don't want to find so much as a freaking gum wrapper in her."

Sam dropped his peas on the couch and limped out, resisting the urge to key the paint job just to piss Dean off. He wondered briefly if that would only result in death threats and a black eye or if it would result in actual death. "Dean get some rest."

* * *

Dean's cell rang. He was lying on the couch (he loved this fucking couch, probably would live on it if he were allowed) with his arm around Jeanette. She had her back pressed into him. Spooning with a chick and not fucking her. Something was wrong with his head.

But she'd just wanted comfort and some part of him that would NEVER admit it wanted it too. He wanted her to dote on him and call him _darling._ Rub his back and kiss his forehead. Spoon with him on the fucking couch.

He was clearly losing his balls.

The cell rang again. Dean flipped it open. "Sammy? What'cha got?"

"He wasn't murdered after all. I'm guessing it's Gerard Cuthbert. He was their neighbor. By neighbor I mean he lived 5 miles away- but the closest in contact with the property. He owned the parcel of land right next to theirs.

He and his wife Paula both lived into their 60s. Ichabod died about 10 years after his wife of natural causes." Sam sounded drained.

Dean's paternal radar went off. "What's wrong? You sound sick."

"I'm just really tired."

"Get back here. Jeanette is gonna cook us a little somethin' and then we got some salt and burning to do." He hesitated, pulled Jeanette tighter to his chest. "Sam."

"Yeah?"

"I'm really sorry about the girl, man." There was a pause on the other end until he started to question whether Sam had ended the call.

"Me too." His brother hung up.

* * *

Dean nuzzled the chestnut hair at the nape of Jeanette's neck. "My brother said that this Gerard guy wasn't murdered. So one less vengeful spirit for us to sort out."

He pressed his lips to her skin.

"Dean do you think Leslie could become one?"

"No. Not if we solve her murder and take care of the perpetrators. Vengeful spirits need something to be... I don't know... _vengeful_ about."

She pulled his arm into her more."I'm scared."

"Awww. Don't be scared. I gotcha, babe. We deal with this all the time."

"How do I know it won't happen again?"

"Once we take care of this, it won't. I promise." He swung his leg over hers a little, let the weight settle on her, grounding her, comforting her. "I'll watch out for you."

"I don't want you or your brother getting hurt to help."

"All part of the job."

"I don't want it to be." She countered.

"I'm used to it." He replied. His tone was flippant.

"Someone is going to get really hurt, I know it."

"Nah." Dean said dismissively. "We will get everyone out of the barn, Sammy and I will start digging in the daytime so that the spirits are less apt to be strong enough to appear. We will salt and burn and then see what happens."

There was a weighty pause. "Do you ever get scared?"

"Been facing these things since I was about 14. So takes a lot to scare me." He nuzzled her hair again. God, he loved women's hair. The smell of it. The feel of it against his cheek or ticking his chest or tangled in his fingers...

Jeanette took his arm that was thrown over her shoulder and gently planted a kiss on the inside of his wrist. It felt tender and intimate. He closed his eyes against it. It almost made him feel weirdly emotional.

"Does your head feel better, Darling?"

"A little." Dean said. "Feels good to just lay here and relax."

"Feels wonderful to be wrapped in a man's arms." Her voice was wistful. "Didn't think I'd have that again, so thank you, Dean."

"Awww. Baby, of course you will." He shifted behind her, let his body move against her back. "Don't think that."

She went silent.

"Hey." He said again, kissing her ear. "You will."

She pressed back against him. "Maybe. Women have a pretty short shelf-life compared to men."

"You will. Just enjoy now and lie here with me. _Carpe Dean-em_ and all that."

She laughed. _"Seize the Dean?"_

"You know you want to." He rolled his hip into her. Oh god. Why was his mouth writing checks his body couldn't cash?

Luckily, she laughed and twisted around in his arms to face him and give him a gentle kiss. But she didn't seem set on taking him up on his ill-thought out offer.

"I feel sorry for your brother." She said, immediately killing his libido. "Leslie really liked him."

"Yeah." Dean's expression grew a little darker. "He really liked her too. Kid is not having good luck with women."

"Dean, when you said your dad disappeared without a trace. Is this the kind of work he does?"

Dean cleared his throat. "Yeah. Yeah it is."

She nodded. "You must be so scared for him."

The conversation was starting to get uncomfortable. Feelings just set Dean on edge. "Yeah." He said, monosyllabic.

She pulled him into her and he put his head on her shoulder. He relaxed. This he could do. The language of physicality he could speak.

 **tbc... more crap to hit the fan next chapter, I promise. Thank you to my usual suspects and to the unusual ones for the reviews. If I made you smile, drop me one. Doesn't matter if it's now or 9 months after I've written this. Feedback is awesome.  
**


	22. Chapter 22

Dean heard the rumble of Baby's engine through his hazy nap. He opened an eye and found himself alone on the couch.

He groaned and sat up. His lips were dry, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. There was a definite wet spot where he'd drooled on the spotless upholstery. He grabbed a throw pillow and set it over the mess. He breathed on the back of his hand to test his breath and had to suppress the urge to vomit.

Yeah. No surprise why Jeanette had called off the cuddle session.

He stood up, wobbly and aching. His head hurt so badly. A wave of nausea hit him and for a horrible moment he thought that maybe he was going to throw up on her expensive high pile carpet and beautiful god-knows-what fur rug. But he swallowed it back down and got himself out into the foyer. He padded to the front door in his socks and opened it as Sam was heading up the porch.

Sam halted and looked at his brother. "Dude, you look like Hell."

"Just getting up from a nap." Dean's voice was deep and hoarse. "Sam, I need the Vicodin. Did you find it?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah. I dug it out earlier." He reached into his carhartt jacket and held the amber bottle out to Dean. The label was starting to come unglued.

Dean took it unsteadily.

Sam approached him closer, all soft and concerned. "You sure you're okay?"

Dean batted him away petulantly.

Sam grabbed the arm and pulled it down to Dean's side. "Give me a minute and lemme see your eyes."

"What?" Dean winced away but Sam grabbed his chin and held it, studying him closely. "Look sideways for me."

Dean grumbled and complied.

"Okay, back at me." Sam tilted Dean's head so that the slanting sunlight hit his eyes.

"Ughgh." He brought his arm up to shield himself and squinted. "Knock it off."

"Dean I'm checking your pupils. You can either chill and let me do it or I can drag you to a clinic and they can do it."

Dean dropped his arm and let Sam play with him for a few more moments. He lost his patience a few seconds later and Dean jerked his arm out of Sam's grasp and headed back into the house.

* * *

Jeanette's kitchen was huge, with grey granite counter tops and a fancy copper back splash. A huge island, stood in the middle. Stainless-steel appliances magically shiny with no fingerprints stood in the corner silently saying: _You shouldn't be here with us, peasant. Go get your Styrofoam cooler._

Dean opened the too fancy refrigerator and grabbed a wine cooler. He popped the cap off and took a swig, washing down two of the pills Sam had given him.

Sam wandered in after him. "Dean!"

"What?" Dean turned a disheveled head his brother's way.

"Don't take those things with alcohol!"

"Why not?"

"Why not? Because you don't mix alcohol and pain pills, that's why."

Dean shrugged him off dismissively. "Dad and I been doing it our whole lives, Sammy."

"That's probably what's wrong with you both."

Dean slammed his wine cooler down and turned to face him. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Sam stepped back, held up his hands. "Nothing. Nevermind."

"I feel like shit and you gotta sit here and take swipes at me and Dad. What the hell did I do to you?"

"Dean I don't want to fight. I'm sorry."

"Then don't say rude shit if you don't want to fight."

"I said I'm sorry, okay? I haven't had the best day either." Sam replied defensively.

Dean dropped his gaze. "Yeah. I get that." He scratched his unkempt hair. "Did you find anything else out?"

"No. Just bits and pieces. Good news is I think Sara is the only spirit we're dealing with."

"And Ghostbiscuit."

"And Reilly." Sam nodded.

Dean opened the fridge once more and started poking around. "This woman has no snacks."

"Wasn't she fixing dinner?"

"Yeah she said she was." He closed the door again. "I don't know where she is."

"Probably down at the barn, there's like 6 cars here. I don't think anyone heeded her warning that the place was closed." Sam sighed. "I don't know how we're going to start a fire with a bunch of people here and we'll be losing daylight soon."

Sam looked at Dean carefully. "Dean you should really eat something. I'm not so sure about the alcohol and Vicodin on an empty stomach thing."

Dean had started to feel a bit flushed just before Sam said that. He blinked. "Yeah."

He opened the fridge a third time and stared blankly. "Raw chicken. Eggs. Not much to eat."

Sam ducked under his arm and grabbed an apple. "Here."

"Oh." Dean said drowsily. "Didn't see it."

"Goddammit. I hope that leaves your system fast, I need you and we don't have a lot of time, Dude."

"I can still dig a grave, S'mmy. And I have a high tolerance for meds, you know that."

"Yeah. Mr. Speed Metabolism." Sam said, almost with a hint of envy.

Dean took a bite of the apple and sat heavily on a breakfast stool. "Don't even know what that means."

"You metabolize things quickly. It's why you can drink men twice your weight under the table and eat the food you do and not put on weight."

Dean was watching Sam through heavy lidded eyes. "And here I always thought that's cause I'm awesome." He took another swig of his wine cooler.

Sam reached over to take it away.

"Sammy!"

"Dean. No." He dumped it in the sink and filled it with water. "Here."

Dean wrinkled his nose. "Sam you suck... You know what, Sammy?"

Sam settled on the stool across from him. "I suck?"

"Nah." He paused. "I should get diggin, huh?"

"No." Sam huffed, through a small smile twisting his lip. "I think you need a break for a bit.

Dean leaned his head against the counter. "Why do people ride horses." He said into the cool granite. "These things are a lot of work."

Sam shrugged. "I guess they like the work."

"Shovelin' shit and turning them in and out. And brushing them... I think they spend more time brushing them then riding them. Hmmm. Nice to watch them ride 'em though."

"You have a strangely one track mind."

"I'm focused," Dean muttered into the counter.

Sam knew he was a few moments from falling asleep.

"Yeah...let's focus on YOU not breaking your ass as you fall off the bar stool." He walked around and grabbed Dean's arm, pulled him upright.

Dean sagged against him drunkenly. Sam ushered him back to the couch and let him flop down.

 _Great,_ he thought. _Now I'm going to have to do most of the work myself._

* * *

Sam sauntered into the stable, his hands in the pockets of his canvas jacket. He watched Jeanette talking animatedly with some of the boarders he was less familiar with.

He grabbed a bale of hay and started dividing it and throwing it to the horses. He'd never admit it to Dean but he kind of liked the work. The physicality of it was real and solid, helped to clear his mind.

And it was good, honest work in clean air. It was a total waste of his intellect, but then again his intelligence had been equal parts blessing and curse in his life.

Jeanette wandered over to him. Her face looked lined and haggard. The distress was really doing a number on her.

"I can't get them to leave yet. I keep trying to make up excuses and they're not having any of it."

Sam brushed the hay off his jeans. "Yeah well," he looked over his shoulder. "We're kinda losing daylight here."

"They're all giving me shit about how they pay good money to work their animals anytime. It's true you know. After 5 is prime time here. Everyone is getting out of work then." She put her hand to her forehead.

Sam sighed. "You okay?"

She shook her head. "I'm losing boarders over this. One accident people were willing to overlook. Two? It's not safe. They want to leave. Can't say I blame them. I'm afraid to push them out right now or I may just lose all my income."

Sam bit his lip. "I understand but get them out as quickly as possible. Please. The later it is..." he left the thought unspoken.

"So ghosts really do come out at night?"

"They can manifest during the daytime as well but there really is a reason why its called the witching hour..."Sam looked over his shoulder. "It's gonna take me longer. I'm down a man. Dean is out for the count."

Jeanette looked concerned. "His head? Sam we should get him to a hospital!"

"I think it has more to do with taking two Vicodin with a wine cooler on an empty stomach." Sam replied with a reluctant smirk. "He'll be okay. It's classic Dean behavior. Doesn't think things through."

"I see that." She replied.

"Hey you know, thanks for looking out for him for me. He doesn't always rub people the right way but..." Sam paused in thought. "He's a really good guy."

He almost felt emotional for a brief moment. It must have shown on his face because she hugged him. Sam stiffened a second and then put his arm around her back.

"You two boys break my heart."

He pulled away, the bafflement plain on hid features. "What? Why?"

She smiled. "You're too young to know." She squeezed his hand.

Sam blushed a little and ducked his head shyly, uncomfortable with the praise.

"Hey I'm gonna take the Impala out to grab some supplies. Tell Dean I'll be back if he wakes up."

* * *

The sun had set and it was pitch black by the time the last of the women left. Sam was in the hole digging as swiftly as he could. Which wasn't very swiftly because he kept hitting big chunks of New York rock. And the rich dark soil was dense and extra packed together from having a 1200 pound animal stand on it for a year.

He grumbled. Sweating with the effort even though it was chilly.

Jeanette stopped to talk to him. "I'm not so sure about setting a fire here."

"We don't have a choice," Sam said. "I need to salt and burn whatever remains we find. I'm sorry. I can try to control the fire. I bought a fire extinguisher it's sitting by Alpert's stall. I moved out the hay. If you want to put Stranger's neighbors in the indoor, you can."

"I think I'm going to turn them all out. They will panic at smoke and I'm not comfortable with risking the lives of 24 horses. _At all._ "

Sam squinted apprehensively. "It's dark out there, Jeanette. Like really dark. I don't want something to happen to you."

She tilted her chin up. "It's my stables. I'll go down taking care of the horses if I have to."

She grabbed a leadrope and slid open the stall door across from Sam. She clipped it to Alpert's halter, and tugged him out. He walked gamely behind her and she grabbed another horse and headed outside, a leadrope in each aristocratic hand.

Sam knew better to argue with a Queen about her castle. He resumed digging.

She had wandered in and out a few more times when the lights began to buzz. Sam's breath came out in a cloud of vapor and he felt his heart drop.

 _Not now. Not now._

And there she was, flickering like a TV image with bad reception just near the wash stall. He saw her pale features. Dirty black hair. The blood.

"You killed me."

"No." Sam leaned the shovel against the edge of the stall.

"Yes." She said, stepping closer. He could feel her anger starting to build.

"No." Sam's voice was clear and firm. "I'm not Ichabod, Sara. I'm Sam Winchester."

"You killed him."

"Him who?" Sam asked. "Who is _he_?"

 _"Him!"_ Her face twisted into pure grief.

She flickered out of sight and Sam put his back to the stall and looked around the deserted aisle way. He hadn't even hit the casket yet. Prayed they had the exact spot and he wasn't digging fruitlessly.

The lights buzzed again.

"Sara," He said aloud, his eyes methodically sweeping the place. "Talk to me."

She flickered into view right in front of him.

He flinched in surprise. Genuinely startled. He pressed himself against the wooden boards and swallowed.

" _You_ killed him."

"Who?"

"You knew I loved him! You wanted to punish me so you took away the only thing I loved!" She screamed.

"No. I didn't." His mind was frantically running through scenarios. Gerard had been fine. Her two children had both been girls.

He heard steel shod hooves echo in the dim space and saw the darkness coalesce into a menacing shape in the wash stall.

He wasn't solid quite yet, more of an insubstantial shadow.

She was corporeal. As real as himself.

"He loved me and you hurt him because you were jealous!"

She touched Sam's chest and he shrank back trying to sink into the very wall, his arm reaching for the shovel. He felt his heart stutter at her dead fingers.

"I didn't hurt anyone." He said sincerely.

She stepped back at a snort. "Reilly?"

Reilly approached with his head down, calmly, softly like the actual animal he might have once been before he'd been twisted into something evil with pain. Sara swished away from Sam with preternatural speed and laid a hand on the horse's mangled head.

It clicked into place before she said another word. _You killed him._ She meant the horse. Ichabod had found out about the affair and savagely beaten the only thing Sara had left to death. Sam wondered if she'd witnessed this and tried to stop it. Maybe her trying to save her pet had put her in the path of his rage. It was sad, really.

The few horses left inside that Jeanette hadn't turned out yet began to grow agitated at the spirits as animals often did. He could hear the pacing as they circled their barred prisons. The stallion neighed.

Reilly swiveled his one good ear toward it.

She looked back at Sam full of vitriol. "You beat him!"

"I didn't!" This was a lost cause. Like arguing the opposite side's politics with a campaign leader.

He cast around for his canister of salt, didn't see it where he'd put it earlier. He blinked, felt his heart kick.

 _Had one of the boarders moved it?_

He had a shovel. Against Sara and a horse.

He heard Jeanette's footsteps echo into the stables. Heard her halt.

"Get out." Sam yelled. "It's not safe!"

A blast of rock salt echoed through the space and Sara and Reilly flickered into a poof of smoke.

Dean stepped into the stable from the other side.

"You okay, Sammy?"

"Yeah." Sam dove for the shovel, digging frantically. Keenly aware that he had little time.

Dean approached, pumped the barrel of the sawed off shotgun again." Dude, why didn't you wake me?"

"You were OUT, Dean. You needed your rest. How are you?" He stopped to spare an appraising look. "Feeling less doped up?"

Dean nodded. "Ready for action."

The ghost flickered again.

He spun and shot at her, then reeled sideways a bit. "Hurry up there, Sammy."

"Trying!" Sam yelled. He heard his shovel hit something hollow. Bolstered by his progress he redoubled his efforts.

"Dean, I didn't see the salt canister where I left it."

Jeanette walked up breathless. "Oh god, it was probably Becky. She's always anal about anything left in the hallways."

"Where would she put it?" Dean asked.

Jeanette hazarded a guess. "The tack room?"

Dean headed in to look for it. Noticed he was low on salt rounds and swore.

The lights flickered again.

 _And there it was_ , lingering near the garbage can. He grabbed it.

* * *

Sam was in the hole and began to try to pry the lid off the wood box with the tip of his spade. The old wood splintered instead of tearing free. He swore.

"Come on!" he hissed and it came loose with a creaking groan and Sam flung it aside.

Inside were the bones of Sara Stevenson. The split skull and crushed cheekbone was obvious under the barely there flesh dried into the consistency of a rotted raisin in the spots where it remained.

"Dean." He yelled trying to pulling himself out of the pit. "I need the salt. And the lighter fluid. I got her."

Sam's boot snagged on something. He tried to kick it free, slipped back into the casket. Her bones crunched under his feet and he grimaced. It felt awful. He jumped up again, scrabbled at the sides and heard a rip of fabric. He'd torn off a piece of her long blouse sleeve, snapped her tiny wrist with it. He felt horrible.

Dean was suddenly at the lip. "Dude, what are you doing?"

"I'm stuck." Sam whined, taking a fistful of dirt sliding down with him as he landed again. "Oh god. This is awful!"

"Jesus, Sam. You're like trampling her remains."

The lights flickered. Dean looked up. "I think you're pissing her off."

"Give me a freaking hand here."

Dean reached down and grabbed Sam's forearm. He dragged him out of the pit. Sam landed on his stomach on the shavings beside him. He saw the ghost flicker out of his peripheral vision.

He barked a warning to his brother. "Dean, on your left!"

Dean turned around, his reflexes noticeably slowed from the effects of the medication and pumped a round into Sara. She disappeared once more.

Sam rose to his hands and knees, shaking off wood shavings and dirt. Then staggered to his feet.

"Salt and burn the bitch, Sammy!" Dean tossed the salt to Sam.

Sam caught it deftly and started sprinkling.

He noticed that he'd dislocated the corpse's wrist entirely. He felt unaccountably guilty.

"I need lighter fluid."

"Goddammit!" Dean exclaimed, clearly frustrated with all the stupid delays. "Don't tell me OCD Bitch moved that too."

Jeanette was already looking for it.

"We don't have time!" Sam chimed in. He felt a little panicked.

Dean looked decisive. "I'll grab some from the car. I'm out of salt rounds."

He sprinted for the door, ignoring his various aches and pains, had just about made it when the huge barn doors on both ends of the aisle went sliding shut. He tried to skid to a stop and rammed right into it like Wiley Coyote and an anvil from Acme. His empty shot gun clattered to the ground and Dean's hand went to his forehead which had smacked into the surface with a loud clang.

"Sonofabitch!"

He kicked the tin door viciously and it reverberated under his boot.

"Bitch locked us in!"

The lights flickered again and there she was in the wash stall.

Sam took out his lighter and tried to light a handful of hay. It caught and he tossed it into the pit where it smoked and went out.

Fucking typical. If they weren't _trying_ to start a fire, the whole goddamned barn would go up in smoke from a spark from a tractor- but since they were _trying_ to, nothing was going to catch. "This is so bad. We need the fluid." There was desperation to his tone.

Jeanette had disappeared into the tack room looking for it.

The horses erupted into hysteria. The stallion near Dean kicking savagely at anything he could contact in his stall.

The ghost began to manifest behind her. Dean's face broke into into a challenging snarl. "Come here, bitch!"

Sara's attention was fixed solely on Sam.

She waved her arm and he flew into the wall with his shoulder. She flickered out and appeared in front of him again. One big push and he went down.

Dean dashed across the length of the barn.

She straddled Sam and he tried to buck her off, writhing in the shavings under him. Her hands went around his throat. He could feel her cold thighs against his sides like ice. Some weird part of his mind wondered why he always ended up almost being violated by ghost chicks. Then he registered how fucked up it was that that was even part of his experience.

Dean swung the shovel through her and she disappeared.

The horse remained, snorting his displeasure.

Jeanette jogged in carrying a few jars in her arm. "I can't find the lighter fluid."

"What's this?" Dean looked at the round cans of hoof dressing. "We gonna paint Ghostbiscuits feet? Bad time for a horse manicure, hun."

"It's Venice turpentine," she said.

Dean blinked.

"It's flammable!" Sam exclaimed, hauling himself to his feet. "Good thinking."

He grabbed the jar and began emptying the viscous liquid over the corpse. The contents slicked her old blouse and skirt like spilled syrup.

Sara flickered in the space between them and flung Sam out into the hallway.

He went sideways with a cry that was somewhere between shocked and indignant, dropping the turpentine on the stall floor.

Dean ignored his brother's plight and dove for the half empty can, resolute to finish what Sam had been trying to do.

After he covered her with the turpentine, he threw his lighter into the pit. At first he didn't think it would catch, and then suddenly it did, licking over the body in weird streams of flame.

Sara screamed as the fire began to consume the remnants of her corpse. She backed off of Sam.

Sam pulled the journal and its fabric out of his jacket and tossed it his brother's way. "Here! Catch!"

It smacked Dean in the side of his head. He swore, reached down and tossed it in the pit.

Sara's spirit started to go up in flames. It looked agonizing and Sam wondered why laying ghosts to rest had to be so violently painful. She disappeared with an unearthly screech.

The horses screamed.

So did Reilly, panicked with fear. The big black's eyes rolled sideways as his mistress writhed.

He reared and galloped toward Sam.

Sam tried to run, nearly slammed into Jeanette in his haste to get out of the way.

Dean saw it coming. He realized for whatever reason the horse hadn't left with her. So there must have been something else tying it to this world. It was going to kill his brother and Jeanette, no doubt.

Sam dodged to the side and grabbed something to throw at it as Reilly began to close the gap. His hands settled on a pitchfork and he flung it. But Reilly seemed stronger in his protective rage. The fork went through him and clattered onto the floor in In a deafening staccato of sound.

He couldn't stop it. They needed something to hold it off.

Dean heard the stallion scream next to him in his stall. Even through his rather slowed thought processes, he remembered Jeanette's warning about a Stallion's urges.

Without another thought, the elder Winchester reacted on instinct alone. He moved over, his hand slick with sweat and wrenched open Lionel's stall door.

He let the stallion out.


	23. Chapter 23

Lionel plunged past Dean, screaming a challenge through flared nostrils.

He overtook Reilly at a gallop with his pent up rage and body checked the black horse from behind like a linebacker.

Reilly blundered into the side of a stall with his full weight, ripping one of the wooden bars off of it. He righted himself after another blunder and whirled on the stallion.

Sam and Jeanette both tried to back away from the 2,500 pounds of wild animal as they circled one another, steel-shod horse shoes ringing off the concrete in a disorganized clatter.

The stallion reared, nostrils flared, ears laid back, slashing out with his hooves and Reilly rose to meet him.

Sam pushed Jeanette behind him, his arm instinctively up to protect his face, as if that would do any good if he caught a hoof to his cheek.

They were wedged in a corner together, afraid to break away as the horses danced by them, locked in combat.

This wasn't a territorial sparring match. Both horses were out for blood.

Reilly's gaping facial wound sprayed flecks of bloody foam as he sprang forward and clashed into the Stallion's neck with his front legs. Lionel skidded backwards with the force, shaking his head and whipping his mane around like an enraged lion. The chestnut snapped at his opponent with a bite and Sam could hear the clack of the teeth coming together from where he was.

He was genuinely afraid. Monsters and ghosts he could face coolly. Animals this big fighting in close proximity sent a jolt of adrenaline through his veins. It was a purely instinctive terror. Something primal and raw.

His breathing sped up as he kept searching for an out to break away to the safety of a stall, where he could hole up, tucked out of sight. He was mindful of the woman behind him, trying to figure out how to drag her with him if he made a break for it.

The horses clashed again, and Sam could hear the impact of bone on bone like two rams butting heads.

Lionel circled by and a tail whipped across his face hard enough that the hair stung his cheek. May even have cut it.

Jeanette's voice came behind him. "We're going to be trampled if we stay here."

"I know." Sam choked, watching the whirling wall of red and black before him. "I can't find a break to get out."

The horses peeled by again, knocking shoulders like Sumo Wrestlers. The stallion reared again and caught the ghost horse in the face with a steel shod hoof. Reilly staggered backward and went down with a resounding thud like the sound of an SUV being dropped from a building.

Sam grabbed Jeanette's arm and whirled her around in front of him. There was the smallest sliver of opportunity to squeeze out before he got up. "Go!"  
He yelled, pushing her forward. "You're smaller than me! You'll fit."

She ran ahead, ducked under the Stallion's bobbing head in an impressive display of dexterity for a woman her age and ran to Dean.

His brother caught her in his arms and pushed her into a stall, sliding the door partway shut.

One person safe at least.

Reilly staggered back up, the hanging flap of skin on his chest bobbing grotesquely with the movement and Sam backed into the corner again, terror on his face as the two horses charged one another. Hooves, teeth, tails, manes, legs, tangled in front of him. He was going to be killed. He knew it.

He caught Dean's eye through the maelstrom. Dean knew it too. He started to close in.

"Don't!" Sam warned, reading his brother's mind.

Dean got as close to the fray as he dared, eyes calculating, bobbing on the balls of his toes and ready to dodge. He did, missing a hoof by an inch or two and drew back.

"Make a break, Sam!" He yelled over the din of screams and snorts.

"I'm trying!" Sam tensed, ready for action. Looking for a clearance.

The horses reared in a blur of red and black. Sam dove for the opening, dodging a hoof that came perilously close to his skull. He caught a horse's flank to his bicep and it threw him to the floor like he'd been hit by a bus.

"Sammy!" Dean dodged in, grabbing his brother's collar and trying to haul him to his feet and out of the way.

Just then, Reilly bested Lionel and the stallion crashed sideways through the boards of a stall. He thrashed hysterically, trying to get up.

Sam staggered forward with Dean's tug and caught himself against the bars of a stall with one hand, sagging down for a moment. He stuck a foot out to brace himself and a movement from one of his torn boot laces caught his eye. It was black with with a flash of gold that caught the scant light of the barn and reflected back to him.

He pulled himself up and tried to limp out of the way of Reilly who looked like he couldn't decide if he wanted to kill the boys or Lionel.

Dean stepped in between them.

Sam tripped on his loose lace and went down on his ass. He reached forward to grab the offending lace and pulled something off that had snagged on the open hooks at the top of his hiking boot, partly hidden by his jeans.

It came away in his hand and he stared at it for a moment.

It was a bracelet made of black braided horse hair with a golden clasp. Everything clicked into place. The corpse he'd trampled, the wrist he broke. Probably snapped off when the bracelet snagged on his boot.

"I got it!" Sam yelled and got up just as Reilly decided to charge. He stood like a deer in headlights, frozen for a brief moment.

The black horse reared up, struck out with a hoof. Sam only had time to register the thought: _shit_ before Dean intercepted. Something like the crack of a wooden bat rang out and Dean took the blow to his chest, thrown across the aisle like a rag doll.

"Dean!" Sam started to head for him instinctively, realized he had to abandon the thought, and ran for Stranger's stall.

Lionel was up and upon Reilly before he could crash into Dean's prone figure.

They clashed again, screaming challenges.

Sam limped into the stall. The fire in the pit had gone out.

He fished into his pocket for a lighter, snapped it until the spark caught and held the flame to the braided bracelet. The horrible smell of ozone filled the air as the dry hair went up in a singing, curling, smoky fire. He associated the smell with Jess and it turned his stomach.

Reilly screamed a different kind of neigh, one fraught with pain and terror, and went down on his knees before Lionel.

The stallion backed away from the unnaturally flaming horse before him. His instinct to be afraid of fire took over and he whirled and galloped down the hall. For a brief second it looked like he would trample Dean, but instead he leapt the young man's prone body and charged back into his own stall.

Jeanette slammed it shut behind him.

The two of them both caught sight of Reilly whistling a piteous neigh through his nostrils as he thrashed helplessly on the floor.

Sam felt his gut twist, his compassion swelling for the animal that had suffered so much pain and didn't understand what was happening.

Within the space of a minute, it disappeared into a smoky swirl of sparks.

They stood stunned at the sight until he heard Dean's moan.

It snapped Sam back into action and he raced to his brother's side, going down on his knees beside him and placing trained hands on his shoulders. "Dean. Are you okay?"

Dean choked on a congested sounding gasp that made Sam's heart constrict with fear.

"Dean," he said again. His hands moved to the broad chest. "What's wrong? Are you okay."

"I'm awe...some." he said in a wheezing whistle, then tried to haul in air.

Sam's jaw went tight.

Jeanette jogged over. "Is he hurt?"

"Yeah." Sam said grimly. "Yeah. He is. Stay with him," he told her. "I'm going to call the ambulance."

He touched Dean's cheek with the back of his knuckles and stood up.

He dialed 911 and tried to keep the panic from his voice as the operator answered. He could hear Dean moaning in pitiful wet gasps behind him.

* * *

"Ambulance is coming, Dean. It's on its way." Sam soothed.

Dean lay curled on his side on the ground, shuddering.

Jeanette pulled his head into her lap and stroked his hair. "It's okay, darling. It's okay."

He tried to swallow and choked a bit, until a line of warm-bloody drool ran down the side of his mouth. He broke into panting, his voice audible with every quickly drawn breath. Jeanette gently wiped away the mess with her sleeve. "It's okay, sweetheart, it's okay."

He groaned and pulled into her, almost fetal. His hand pawed for a moment at her deerskin breeches. She laid one of hers over his and squeezed. "Okay, darling one. Okay."

"Friggin' hate horses," he whispered.

Sam knelt down behind him, eyes soft with concern. "I know you do."

He briskly rubbed Dean's back between his shoulder blades. "Come on, buddy, keep breathing. You're gonna be okay, Dean."

Dean's complexion was greying slightly with the lack of air. He choked on a blood bubble and half spit it out onto Jeanette's lap.

"S..."he took a breath. "Sorry."

Her hands ran through the back of his hair. "It's okay, darling."

"Dean." Sam tried to angle his brother's body and head down a little, hoping to keep the blood from running back down his throat. He thumped him between the shoulder blades and Dean gagged, curling up, trying to wriggle his head off of Jeanette's lap.

She held him steady and he coughed up phlegm.

"Spit it, Dean," Sam said.

Reluctantly, Dean did and was able to draw breath. "I'm so s..." a gasping sound "...sorry."

He looked at Jeanette's gore spattered breeches as he lay his cheek on her thigh.

"Darling, I don't care about the pants."

Sam's hand was rubbing quick circles across his back. "You're doing good, buddy."

Dean snorted a laugh that sent him into a choking fit. "If...good... is drooling blood all over someone's pants then yeah, I'm awesome."

"You are, you're awesome." Sam reassured. "Huh, Jeanette?"

She smiled affectionately and her soothing hand cupped the back of his neck and rubbed his jaw line. "Yes. Yes, you are awesome." She said, the word sounding completely out of place in her mouth.

Dean grimaced as the pain worsened in his chest and shoulder.

Sam patted his calf. "Easy, kiddo."

The relative quiet was broken by ambulance tires rumbled on the gravel drive and two paramedics sliding the big barn doors open. They rushed to Dean, carefully rolling him off of the safety of Jeanette's lap and onto the cold ground, shining pen lights in his eyes, slipping on latex gloves and prying his jaw open and tilting his head to see his airway.

In a completely infantile jumble of thoughts, Dean wanted his mommy. Then he wanted his father. Luckily, he didn't voice them out loud as a rough finger stuck itself down his throat and he fought it.

Hands pinned him down and there was Sam's _woah take it easy_ and Jeanette's _okay darling._

Dean whined, panicked, the feel of the unwanted hands and the latex against his tongue and teeth upsetting him. "Hey Dean, we're here to help." The middle aged man looking into his mouth said. The man's dark hair and beard were the only thing Dean was able to register at the moment.

He felt someone else, the other EMT, pumping a blood pressure cuff fight against an arm, but it was background to the probing finger trying to clear his airway.

"I don't see any actual obstruction." The bearded tech said. Dean thrashed weakly. "Easy there, big guy."

Dean tensed and twisted away. Cold hands unzipped his jacket, he could feel the stethoscope pressed against his chest. "Hardly any sounds from this side. Lung's collapsed." The second EMT was a good deal younger than the first.

The finger left his mouth and he panted in a quick pained breath. "S'mmy."

"Yeah yeah. Right here, Dean." Sam's voice said from his left side.

They picked him up and moved him onto a backboard. It hurt like hell. So much he bit back a cry into a pitiful groan.

The yellow straps were tightened around him, arms at his sides, legs down. It made a flare of panic shoot through him.

Sam was in his view suddenly. "Hey. Hey," he said. "Easy. My brother doesn't do well with restraints."

"Not many people do," the older man replied, unfazed.

Dean felt Jeanette's hand take his. "You're so brave. They're only helping darling. Stop fighting."

He panted audibly in response.

The Damned EMT was in his face again. He tilted his head back uncomfortably and pried his jaw open with his thumb and forefinger. Dean saw the metal blade in his hand. He redoubled his struggling.

"Hey, listen to me. You're doing good. You're doing really good. We're just going to help you breathe a little. I need you to lay really still, okay?"

He kept his thumb pushing Dean's jaw open not giving him a chance to answer.

His face was very close to Dean's, so close he could feel his breath. The man tilted Dean's head at a better angle and slid the cold metal laryngoscope into his open mouth, pressing down on his tongue.

Dean started to gag, his body convulsing pitifully against the restrains. Someone's hands were on both sides of his head, stilling him.

Tears appeared at the side of his eyes and trickled down as the EMT adjusted the scope and slid it in further. "Okay. We're just holding down your tongue here and then we need the tube. You're doing good."

He couldn't make a sound but it was the most god-awful sensation of his life. His entire body was tense and shaking.

He felt Jeanette's hand rubbing his. "Darling, we're right here."

Pushing the tube in was worse. Dean's body gave a tense lurch as he half-assed gagged. It hurt. It burned. He was scared. The pain spread across his chest and back. People were trying to soothe him.

He closed his eyes, trying to detach himself from his body. Suddenly the tube was in place and the pressure of the laryngoscope disappeared as the EMT drew it out and Dean could breathe.

He couldn't quite make out the quick debate that erupted between his brother and the medical personnel.

Sam patted his shoulder a moment later. "I'll be right behind you, buddy."

* * *

Sam watched helplessly as they loaded his older brother into the ambulance and switched on the lights. Flashing red and blue and painting the landscape with foreboding.

"Okay," Sam patted himself for the keys to the Impala. He was shaking, hardly able to stand or think.

Jeanette tried to brush Dean's blood and foam off of her pants. "Honey, I'll drive you."

"I think... I think Dean has the keys." Sam paused to gather his thoughts, a little frantic. "I have to be there!"

He whirled, looking for some inspiration, ready to grab a damn bicycle if he could find one.

"Okay." She said. "I know, but let's get you calmed down first."

"No," Sam said, ready for action, heading to her truck. "Please, I have to get there."

"He'll be okay."

Sam had his hand on the door handle. He nodded and suddenly tears sprang into his eyes. "Yeah." He stood and swallowed and Jeanette wrapped her arms around him and pulled him down into an embrace. He sobbed once and leaned against her.

"He'll be fine. Let's get you calm."

"It doesn't matter if I'm calm or not," Sam choked. "This isn't about me. It's about Dean." He said, still bent down into the hug.

"What happens to him, happens to you too." She rocked him gently.

And Sam suddenly understood why his brother had connected with this woman.

After a moment, he collected himself and blew a long trailing breath out of his mouth. "Okay, I'm good. Let's go get my brother."

 **tbc...**

 **kirsten, iwokeuponthewrongsideoflife, wunjo, SpnKs15, Domino Darkwolf, Mariamo, my Guest...thank you so so much. I love you guys. Stay tuned, wrapping this baby up soon.**


	24. Chapter 24

Sam dipped the mesh tea ball in the water and let it steep. He watched it absently for a minute...watched the color bleed into the water in tiny tendrils.

He heard steps on the tiled floor behind him and turned his head slightly.

Jeanette gave him a small smile. "Can you take care of Lionel tonight, sweetheart?"

Sam nodded. "How're his legs?"

"The vet is optimistic for a complete recovery but right now he's lame. So we're on the ice and rest routine. Stallions _love_ stall rest." She rolled her eyes. "His lacerations are all stitched up."

Sam picked the mesh ball out of the water by the delicate silver chain and listened to the trickle of hot liquid strain itself back into the cup.

She approached and looked up at him, into his hazel blue eyes. "You seem reserved tonight?"

He could smell her perfume, subtle notes of something he couldn't identify.

"Yeah." Sam paused, set the tea ball down on the side of the porcelain saucer. "Lot on my mind is all."

She nodded, but he still felt her scrutiny.

"My mind isn't off Leslie either."

Sam stiffened, avoided the subject. "This is strong enough to put hair on your chest."

She looked at the dark water. "Yes. It does appear a bit...robust."

Sam picked it up, porcelain saucer and cup, which looked small in his hand and ducked out of the kitchen and down the hallway.

He peered in at Dean, tucked in on the couch beneath a layer of blankets, skin pale against the oversized charcoal hoodie he'd stolen from Sam. The sprinkling of freckles stood out across the bridge of his nose.

He looked up and blinked at his brother.

"You like this strong?" Sam asked, placing the tea down on a fancy tray near Dean's head. He couldn't help but notice that the bit of jello he'd been given earlier remained untouched.

Dean nodded.

"Thought you did. Couldn't quite remember." Sam put a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, you should eat something."

"Throat's sore, Sammy." Dean's voice was hoarse and a bit strained.

"Since when has a sore throat stopped you from eating? Man, I remember you chowing down with a friggin stomach flu."

"Then you have something in your stomach to throw up. Tactics, Sammy."

Sam rolled his eyes and flopped into the loveseat. His feet hurt. Actually, everything hurt. He felt quite bruised. Nothing like Dean had taken, but he certainly had had better weeks.

"You need to eat though, dude."

Dean shot him a pissy look and instead took the saucer in an unsteady hand and took a sip of tea. A bit dribbled down the side and would have landed on the once pristine cushion if it wasn't for the saucer.

"Dude, you've wrecked this poor woman's couch this whole week."

Jeanette ducked in and looked at them. She looked quite elegant in her maroon blouse with her chestnut hair around her shoulders. "Darling," she admonished. "Eat your jello."

Dean dropped his gaze, set the saucer back down and took a bit of the jello with his fork, acquiescent as a child.

Sam repressed a smirk.

"Somethin' funny?" Dean asked in his gravel voice. He swallowed a few bites and winced, his hand still a little shaky.

"Your face." Sam replied.

Dean snorted. "This face is beautiful."

A piece of the jello wiggled as he moved and slipped off the fork and onto him in a gelatinous orange plop.

He frowned.

Jeanette walked over and brushed her fingers through his hair. She shook her head and looked at the small mess he seemed to be accumulating.

"I'm going to grab something to wipe this up with." She touched her hand against his temple before she left.

"Bring a bib," Sam suggested. "At least we've mastered potty training... I think."

Dean glared at him. "Fuck off."

"We haven't mastered controlling our temper yet, however." Sam called after her retreating figure.

Dean wasn't taking the attempt at humor as well as he usually did.

"You need to put a nickel in the swear jar." Sam tried again.

Dean gave him the finger and set the fork down with a petulant clatter. He blinked, and rubbed at his throat, clearly in pain.

The younger Winchester softened. "I'm really sorry."

"I'm fine." Dean shot back.

There was a pause and Sam kept his eyes on his brother, contemplative for a moment. "That was really hard watching them put the vent tube in you."

Dean gave him another wounded glare. "Yeah? Try having it shoved down your throat and then tell me about hard."

Sam went quiet. "I'd rather have it happen to me then happen to you."

Dean looked like he was winding himself up for a snarky retort but Sam's words took the wind out of his sails.

His expression turned to surprise. "Huh?"

"You heard me," Sam said, leaning forward, his hands folded between his knees. "I hate seeing you hurt."

"Don't like bein' hurt much."

"I hate how you take every blow meant for me like it's your job."

"What? I'm supposed to stand by and let Ghost Horse kick in your freaking sternum? Ain't happening, Sam."

Sam shook his head. "Yeah, I know it's not."

"Dude, stop being all girly. It happened. It sucked. But I lived. It's fine. "

Sam looked a bit angry, almost offended, at the blase reply. "It's never going to be _fine_ for me to watch you cough up blood! To watch you cry while people hold you down and shove a tube down your throat."

"Dude, I did not _cry!_ "

"Dean, I was _there!"_

"It was a reflex action! Jeez. Someone shoves something down your throat, a man cries." Dean swallowed convulsively, clearly paying for his outburst.

"It's okay to cry, Dean. You were hurt and scared."

"I was _not_ scared!" Dean protested, feeling his machismo threatened. He winced at his throat.

Sam closed his eyes, put his head in his hands. "I hate this job. This is what happens with what we do." There was a long pause before he added, "when you get hurt, you hurt me too, remember that."

There was no answer and Sam looked up and studied his brother's pale face. Dean looked almost chastised. He started for the tea with a careful hand.

God, Sam loved him. He loved him _so_ fucking much. He wanted to tell him so badly sometimes. To let him know how dear he was. How utterly important. How irreplaceable.

"Be careful with that tea." He said instead. "It's still really hot."

Dean took the cup slowly.

 _"You're the best fucking brother."_ Sam blurted, without thinking.

Dean looked up, surprised. The cup partway to his lips.

Sam flushed.

Dean's mouth quirked into a crooked smile. "Damn straight I am."

That was the most graciously Dean could accept the statement. Sam expected nothing more.

"Okay," Sam said. "You remember that."

"Always do." Dean replied, but Sam saw it flash in the depths of his brother's green eyes. He was pleased.

 **So close. Almost finished. Had to get in the brotherly feels chapter. Stay tuned for the end, should be coming next chapter. And thank you all who reviewed. You guys are so awesome!**


	25. Chapter 25

Sam put Lionel back in his stall and gave him an affectionate slap on the neck. "Thanks, big guy. Gonna miss you."

Lionel snuffed at his brown mop of hair. Most of his cuts had closed nicely and his legs looked better. Sam slipped off the stallion's personalized leather halter and slid the stall shut. He hung it on its brass hook and started to walk down the aisle.

The blood had finally come off the concrete flooring by now. It had taken Sam a lot of elbow grease but the washstall looked nice again. He really didn't have much to occupy himself outside of playing nursemaid to Dean and doing his barn chores. And Jeanette actually outshone him as nursemaid, driven to dote on Dean with an air somewhere between maternal and flirtatious. He felt a bit ineffectual, but grateful that his brother had someone to care about him. He could never begrudge him that.

Instead he turned his attentions to fixing the damage the Stallion Battle Royale had wrought. Smashed in boards and broken stall doors and blood flecked everywhere.

Jeanette had lost a lot of business, but some loyal people remained. Sam figured she could rebuild her clientele eventually.

He put his hands in his pockets and started to wander out, thought the better of it and stopped at a stall.

He peered into the dim space. "Hiya Stranger."

Stranger stuck his head out of his door and lipped at Sam's outstretched hand.

Sam had rebuilt his destroyed stall and there was no trace of anything awry. It was merely a stall once more. Full of horse and shavings and hay. His brass name plate hung neatly against the stall and caught Sam's eye as Stranger bobbed his reddish brown head.

 _HANDSOME STRANGER loved by Leslie Carone._

Sam's breath caught and he blinked rapidly.

He scratched Stranger's ears and played with the black forelock. "You take care, okay? Jeanette will take care of you. She's good at taking in orphans."

Stranger gave his shoulder a rough butt with his head and Sam smiled. "Don't worry. I got Dean to look after me. Be good, man." He slapped the neck and walked out of the barn into the crisp air.

* * *

Dean was behind the wheel of the Impala, talking to Jeanette. She stood next to him, her hand on the forearm that he had leaning on the window frame.

He greeted Sam with his completely bright and winning smile. The charm of which was usually lost on his brother. But not today. Today Sam was happy to have Dean smile again.

Sam hugged Jeanette and bent down to let her kiss his cheek. "Thank you again, Sam."

He smiled at her, boyish and dimpled. "You're welcome."

He slid into the passenger seat of Baby.

Jeanette leaned down and kissed Dean on the lips with a fair amount of intensity. He glowed at the approval, as he always did when an attractive woman showed him interest. "Thank you, Darling. And do not lose touch."

"Wouldn't think of it, would we Sammy?" Dean asked cheerfully.

"No of course not," Sam replied, complicit in the lie. Dean lost touch with everyone. It was who he was and who Sam was being forced to become.

She kissed his forehead and slipped her hand around his leather jacket in a hug. "Take care." She pulled away and stepped back, looking sad.

"We will." Dean pulled down the sun visor and gunned Baby's engine as he pulled back onto the road, thrilled to have her purring under him again.

"Where to, Sammy?"

"Michigan," Sam said, reaching to his pocket for his notes. His fingers felt something weird and he pulled it out and peered at it.

More paper clips bent into dicks.

"Really, Dean?" Sam asked. "I mean isn't this old by now?"

"Sam I was laid up in bed for like two weeks man. I needed something to occupy my hands."

"Yeah," Sam said, shooting him a mischievous glance. "Guess you were too weak to use your usual method of occupying your hands."

Dean laughed. "Didn't want to stain Jeanette's couch."

"Oh god, Dean! Gross."

Dean sniggered and turned the radio up a bit.

He shifted a moment, something was digging into his hip. He adjusted his jacket and frowned, feeling a bulge in the side pocket. "Sam what did you put in my coat?"

"Nothing."

 _"Sam."_

 _"Nothing!"_ Sam protested vehemently.

Dean blindly fished inside his jacket and pulled out a bulging envelope. He raised an eyebrow and shot Sam a glance.

Sam wrinkled his nose. "What is it?"

"I don't know asshat. I'm driving."

Dean tossed it to him.

Sam caught it deftly. The envelope was a pretty blue stationary, traced with vines and flowers. On it was written _Dean and Sam_ in an elegant script. Sam opened it and spilled a bunch of the dollar bills that appeared on the floor of the car. "What the hell?"

Sam stooped to pick them up and bashed his forehead on the glove compartment.

"Easy Sasquatch. Don't take out the car, dude."

Sam rubbed his forehead with his palm. "Shut up, jerk."

"Is that money?" Dean's voice was incredulous.

"No... it's Play-doh. Yes it's money." Sam fished in the envelope. Tucked in with the stack of bills was a note.

Sam read the words aloud. It said:

 _Darling. It's about time someone paid you for your efforts._  
 _Love always,_  
 _-J_

Sam looked at the envelope again, started to thumb through the cash and count. "Dude, this is a lot of money. I think about a grand."

Dean looked distinctly emotional. His eyes wet with unshed tears.

"What does this mean?" Sam wrinkled his nose in puzzlement. "Your _efforts?_ Are you like her gigolo or something?" he paused "...Are you this good in bed?"

Dean shot him an affronted look. "No! Well yes. Yes, I'm sure I'm that good in bed but, no, I didn't sleep with her...well I _slept_ with her but I didn't _sleep_ with her."

"So what does the note mean?"

"She thought we should charge for our job, Sammy. Get paid like normal people."

"I feel bad. She already paid for all your medical bills and gave me pay for the last two weeks."

"She paid for the medical?" Dean shot him a surprised glance. "We didn't scam it?"

"No. She took care of it. She insisted."

Dean looked touched again.

"Wow." Sam said, flipping through the money again. Holding it and having two weeks pay and all the back pay she'd given them, Sam felt almost wealthy. "Well, we're set for a little while with this. I just wonder why. _Why_ she's so kind to us."

"Don't look a gift horse in the mouth, Sammy."

Sam groaned. "Oh my god, Dean. That was a horrible pun- even for you."

Dean grinned again and turned up the music. He smacked Sam affectionately in the back of the head. "Bitch."

Sam grinned and huffed a breath through his nose. "Jerk."

The road unfolded in a black tar ribbon before them and Dean opened Baby up on the highway. They sped down the interstate together.

 **Ah! So I'm finally finished. I hate to say good bye to my babies. Thank you so much to all of you who stuck it out with me on this story. Even if you come across this months or years after I posted- if I made you laugh, cry, throw shit, or punch your computer, leave me a review and let me know. I love to hear from all of you. If you like this and want more just subscribe to celinenaville. Feel free to drop me a line with any story ideas you think I may be good at. No guarantees but I'm open to suggestions. Thus ends this chapter.  
**

 **Thanks so muh to Alex, mckydstarlight, isabella poulous, freetobescary, dom darkwolf, mariamo, kirsten, aislinn rose, colbie15, colby's girl, spnKs15, iwokeuponthewrongsideoflife, DearHart, irreality, and my guest who left the awesome review that I would have replied but I can't, but know I love you too! And I hope I didn't forget anyone, but know I adore you all. Each and every review makes it worth typing this crap out. LOL.**


End file.
